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/f " 33"^ 



By Samuel Smiles. 



Character. 

i2mo, Cloth, $1 50. 

CONTENTS : 

Influence of CharacterT— Home Power. — Companionship.— Example.— 
Work.— Courage.— Sclf-Control.—Duty.—Trathfuluess.— Temper.— Manner. 
— Companiousiiip of Books.— Companionship iu Marriage.— Discipline of 
Experience. 

SelfHelp. 

Self-Help ; with Illustrations of Character and Conduct. i2mo, 
Cloth, $1 25. 

One of the most interesting, entertaining, and instructive books ever pub- 
lished, and as such should be in every family. One wonders how such a 
common-sense, excellent book could be made so attractive.— Correspondejicc 
Cincinnati Chronicle. 

It enforces the wholesome lessons that genume success in any purpose of 
life is to be expected or achieved only by the resolute practice of industry, 
patience, and perseverance, and that the continual exercise of these qualities 
will enable him who is most moderately endowed by nature or favored by 
circumstances to win the highest rewards and accomplish the noblest deeds ; 
and that habits of exact, zealous, and unremitting application are more cer- 
tain to secure their possessor the object of his desire, be it wealth, influence, 
or reputation, than is the strongest inherent aptitude or even genius itself. 
These principles are illustrated by a host of examples from the history of the 
most eminent men of all ranks and professions.— C/iicaflfo Evening Post. 

Its purpose is to show how it is possible to gain honorable and brilliant 
success without adventitious aid, and to surmount the difficulties of "iron 
fortune" by patient and faithful endeavoi'.— Brooklyn Eagle. 

It is a perfect magazine of encouraging facts drawn from a wide circle of 
biographical literature, ancieut and modern, all tending to impress the truth 
that " Heaven helps those who help themselves." * * * Mr. Smiles tells what 
he has to say with such simplicity and sympathy and good cheer that it is no 
wonder his book is a pleasant companion for young veadevs.— Examiner and 
Chronicle. 



Life of the Stephensons. 



The Life of George Stephenson, and of his Son Robert Stephen- 
son ; comprising, also, a History of the Invention and Introduc- 
tion of the Railway Locomotive. With Portraits and numerous 
Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $3 00. 

It is as interesting as a romance — far more instructive than nine-tenths of 
the best romances. It relates one of the most wonderful stories that was 
ever imagined, yet a story every part of which is tvne.— London Review. 

Mr. Smiles's book is one of the most attractive of biographies, both as re- 
J^^l"?/ ^'^9 personal character of a poor man of genius, fighting out the battle 
of life with an exemplary valor, and, in a more general way, the history and 
progress of the railway system iu the place where it oricrinated. It contains 
every thing necessary to be known on that theme, and' is as well written as 
It is comprehensive. It will be the popular life of the Stephensons, as South- 
ey s book is the popular life of Nelson.— .V. Y. Times. 

Not only the lives of the two modern Titans who have wacred successful 
war against Nature— storming its strongholds with a success denied the gi- 
ants of old— but it is a history of the origin and development of one of the 
most wonderful and useful inventions that humanity has ever profited by.— 
Albany Argus. 



Samuel Smiles's Work. 



History of the Huguenots. 



The Huguenots : their Settlements, Churches, and Industries in 
England and Ireland. With an Appendix relating to the Hugue- 
nots in America. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Beveled, %\ 75. 

The author lias giveu his subject the most thorough iuvestigatiori. Draw" 
ing his material only from the best authenticated historic sources, he has 
followed the accouuts of the most impartial writers in regard to the perse- 
cutions of the Huguenots on the Continent of Europe. Respecting their so- 
journ in England Mr. Smiles narrates much that is entirely new and of great 
interest. — Philadd'pMa Inquirer. 

The wonderful story is told with spirit and accuracy, and in a better man- 
ner than ever before it was told. The reader is enabled to follow the couree 
of events with pleasure, so lively and effective is the stylo of the exciting 
narrative. Seldom has so much valuable matter been placed between the 
covers of a single volume as we find in this ; and the opinions of the author 
are as sound as his statements are trustworthy. The work is written in a 
philosophical spirit, and helps the reader to a just understanding of the 
bearing of the great events the history of which is told on other and later 
events that are even more important. As an instructive work, it would be 
difficult to name the equal of this.— Boston Traveller. 

Mr. Smiles has never had a subject more intimately connecting what is 
greatest in the stir of mind with the establishment of new forms of industry 
than in this account of the settlernent of the Huguenots, who left Fi'ance 
after the Eevocatiou of the Edict of Nantes, costing her, it is said, a million 
of her best subjects,— £a:amme?-. 

Round the World. 

Round the World ; including a Residence in Victoria, and a Jour- 
ney by Rail across North America. By a Boy. Edited by Sam- 
uel Smiles. With Illustrations. i2mo. Cloth, $1 50. 

How the book came to be written is as follows : The boy, w-hose two years' 
narrative forms the subject of these pages, was at the age of sixteen seized 
with inflammation of the lungs, from which he was recovering so slowly and 
unsatisfactorily that I was advised by London physicians to take him from 
business and send him on a long sea voyage. He was accordingly sent out 
to Melbourne. It will be found from his oavu narrative that for a peiiod of 
about eighteen months he resided at Majorca, an up-country township situ- 
ated in the gold-miuinc district of Victoria. f„^ +^ ,.«f.,v« 

When his health had become re-established he was directed to leturn 
home ; and he decided to make the return voyage by the Pacific route, via 
Honolulu and San Francisco, and from thence to proceed by railway across 
the Rocky Mountains to New York. , 

While at sea the bov kept a full log, intended for the perusal of his lela- 
tives at home. He had not the remotest idea that any thing which ne saw 
and described during his absence would ever appear in a book._ But since 
his return it has occurred to the Editor of these pages that the mtoimatiou 
they contain will probably be found of interest to a wider circle ot reaaers 
than that to which the letters were originally addressed ; and, m that oeiiei 
the substance of them is here reproduced, the Editor's work having consisted 
mainly in arranging the materials, leaving the writer to tell his own story as 
much as possible in his own way, and in his own words.— Extract from 
Preface. 

Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

Harper & Brothers wtH send either of the above works hy mail, postage 
prepaid, io any paH of the United States, on receipt of the price. 



CHARACTE R. 



By SAMUEL SMILES, 

AUTHOR OF "SELF-HELP," "LIFE OF THE STEPHENSONS, 

"THE HUGUENOTS," ETC.; AND EDITOR OF 

"ROUND THE WORLD." 



Man is his own star, and the soul that can 
Render an honest and a pei-fect man 
Commands all light, all influence, all fate ; 
Nothing to him, falls early or too late. 
Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, 
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still." 

Beaumont & Fletcher. 




A^£:iV YORK: 

HARPER S: BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
1872. 






486555 
AUG 2 7 1942 






CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

INFLUENCE OF CHARACTER. 

Character a Great Power in the World. — Common Duty. — Character 
above Learning and "Wealth. — Character a Property. — Honesty of 
Character. — Principles. — Reliableness. — Practical Wisdom. — Sher- 
idan and Bnrke. — Character and Circumstances.— Formation of 
Character. — The late Prince Consort. — Force of Character. — The 
Conscientious Man. — The Quality of Reverence. — Intrepidity of 
Character. — Lord Palmerston. — Contagiousness of Energy. — The 
Napiers and Sir John Moore. — Washington, Wellington. — Influ- 
ence of Personal Character. — Reverence for Great Men. — Luther, 
Knox, Dante. — Character a great Legacy. — Character of Nations. 
— Washington Irving and Sir Walter Scott. — Character and Free- 
dom. — Nations strengthened by Trials. — Noble and Ignoble Pa- 
triotism. — Decline and Fall of Nations.— StabiHty of Character of 
Nations ; Page 13 



CHAPTER IL 

HOME POWER. 

Home makes the Man.— Domestic and Social Life.— The Child.— 
Surroundings of Children.— Influence of the Mother.— Power of 
Example.— Civilization dependent on Good Women.— Boyhood of 
St. x\ugustine.— Influence of Early Impressions.— Homes the best 
Schools.— The best Nursery of Character.— Influence of Women.— 
iMothers of Great and Good Men.— Washington, Cromwell, Wel- 
lington, the Napiers.— Mothers of Great Lawyers and Statesmen. — 
Curran and Adams. —The Wesley s. —Mothers of Poets. —Ary 
Scheffer's Mother.— Michelet's Tribute to his Mother.— Lord By- 
ron. — The Footes. — Lamartine. — Women and business Plabits. — 
Education of Women.— Nations and JMothers.-s-Tnie Sphere of 
Women.— Women and Work.—" Enfranchisement " of Women.— 
Women and the Art of preparing Food 42 



viii Contents. 



CHAPTER III. 

" COMPANIONSHIP AND EXAMPLE. 

Influence of Companionship. — Force of Imitation. — Companionship of 
the Good. — Power of Associates. — Boyhood of Henry Martyn and 
of Dr. Paley. — Dr. Arnold an Exemplar. — Power of Good Example. 
— High Standard of Living, — The Inspiration of Goodness. — Ad- 
miration of Good Men. — Influence of Gentle Natures. — Sir W. Na- 
pier. — Energy evokes Energy. — Radiating Force of Great Minds. — 
Admire nobly. — Johnson and Boswell. — Young Men's Heroes. — 
The Envy of small Minds. — Admiration and Imitation. — The Great 
Musicians. — Masters and Disciples. — Enduringness of Good Exam- 
ple. — Consolations of a well-spent Life Page 73 

CHAPTER IV. 

WOPvK. 

Work the Law of our Being. — The Ancient Romans. — Pliny on Rural 
Labor. — The Curse of Idleness. — Causes of Melancholy. — Excuses 
of Indolence. — Industry and Leisure. — Work a Universal Duty. — 
Lord Stanley on Work. — Life and Work. — Dignity of Work. — 
Work and Happiness. — Scott and South ey. — Work an Educator of 
Character. — Training to Business. — Business Qualities. — Welling- 
ton, Wallenstein, Washington. — AVorking Geniuses. — Genius and 
Business. — Literature and Business. — The Great Men of Eliza- 
beth's Reign. — The Great Italians. — Modern literary Workers. — 
Workers in leisure Hours. — Business Value of Culture. — Specula- 
tive and Practical Ability. — Napoleon and Men of Science. — Hob- 
bies. — Literary Statesmen. — Sn G. C. Lewis. — Consolations of Lit- 
erature. — Work and Overwork 97 

CHAPTER V. 

COURAGE. 

IMoral Courage. — Martyrs of Science. — Persecution of Great Discov- 
erers, — Hostility to New Views. — Socrates, Bruno, Galileo, R. Ba- 
con, Vesalius, and others. — Martyrs of Faith. — Anne Askew, Mary 
Dyer, Sir Thomas More. — Fortitude of Luther. — Strafford and 
Eliot. — Success often Avon through Failure, — Common Courage of 
Doing. — Tyraiftiy of " Society." — Moral CoAvardice. — Pandering to 
Popularity. — Intellectual Intrepidity. — Energetic Courage. — Cour- 
age and Tenderness. — Generosity of the Brave. — The Douglas. — 



Contents. 



IX 



Laplace. — The Magnanimous Man. — Education of Women in Cour- 
age. — Moral Strength of\Yomen. — Heroism of Women. — Story of 
Sarah Martin and her Ministrations in Yarmouth Jail Page 131 

CHAPTER VI. 

SELF-CONTROL. 

Self-control the Root of the Virtues. — Value of Discipline. — Suprem- 
acy of Self-control. — Domestic Discipline. — Self-discipline. — Virtue 
of Patience. — Character of Hampden. — Evils of Strong Temper. — 
Strafford, Cromwell, Princes of Nassau, Washington, Wellington, 
etc. — Instances of Self-control. — Faraday, Anquetil, Outram. — For- 
bearance of Speech. — Honest Indignation. — Forbearance in Con- 
duct. — Faraday's Practical Philosophy. — Bunis's Want of Self-con- 
trol. — Reran ger. — Tyranny of Appetite. — Honesty of Living. — Dis- 
honesty of Improvidence. — Public Honesty. — Sir Walter Scott's 
Heroic Effort to pay his Debts. — Lockhart and Scott 165 

CHAPTER VII. 

DUTY — TRUTHFULNESS. 

Upholding Sense of Duty. — Conscience and Will. — Sense of Honor. — 
Vittoria Colonna. — Sacredness of Duty. — Freedom of the Individ- 
ual. — Epictetus on Duty. — Washington's Sense of Dut}^ — Welling- 
ton's Ideal. — Nelson and CoUingwood. — Devotion to Duty. — Duty 
of Nations. — Baron Stoffel's Report on the Causes of the Deca- 
dence of France. — Great Frenchmen of the Past. — The Abbe' de St. 
Pierre. — Duty and Truthfulness. — Wellington and his Aurist. — 
Truth the Bond of .Society. — Equivocation. — Pretentiousness. — 
The Life of George Wilson : his Labors, Sufferings, and Death . 19i 

CHAPTER VIII. 



Cheerfulness of Disposition. — Jeremy Taylor. — Cheerfulness a Tonic. 
— A Beam in the Eye. — Dr. Marshall Hall, Luther, Lord Palmer- 
ston. — Great Men cheerful. — Fielding, Johnson, Scott, Arnold, Syd- 
ney Smith. — Cheerfulness of Men of Genius. —Euler, Robison, Abau- 
zit, Adanson, Malcolm, Burke. — Basis of Cheerfulness. — Benefi- 
cence and Benevolence. — Power of Kindness. — Shallowness of Dis- 
content. — Morbidity of Temper. — Querulousuess. — St. Francis de 
Sales on the Little Virtues. — Gentleness. — Cheerfulness and 
Hope 222 



X Contents. 



CHAPTER IX. 

MANNEli — ART. 

Manner the Grace of Character. — Influence of Manner. — Politeness. 
— ^" Etiquette." — True Courtesy. — Self-restraint, — Practical Unpo- 
liteness. — Ease of Manner. — Indications of Self-respect. — Polite- 
ness of Foreigners. — Good Taste an Economist. — Instinctive Tact 
of Women. — Superficiality of Manner. — Blunt Men. — Knox and 
Luther. — Johnson's Grufifness. — Shyness and Reserve. — Shyness of 
Teutonic Races. — Shy Englishmen.— Shakspeare's Shyness. — Arch- 
bishop Whately and others. — Shy Americans. — Shy Men and Col- 
onization. — Why the Erench fail as Colonizers. — The English Race 
inartistic. — Art and Civilization Page 240 

CHAPTER X. 

COMPANIONSHIP OF BOOKS. 

Men are known by the Books they read. — Good Books the Best So- 
ciety. — Interest of Biography. — The Great Lesson of Biography. — 
The Book of Books. — History and Biography. — Plutarch's "Lives,", 
their Influence. — Plutarch's Art. — Trifles in Biography. — Portrait- 
ure of Character. — Autobiography. — French "Memoires pour ser- 
vir." — Saint-Simon and La Bruyere. — Biography and Fiction. — 
Great Biographies rare.— Boswell's "Johnson." — Men and their 
Contemporaries. — Unrecorded Lives. — Favorite Books of Great 
Men. — Books the Inspirers of Youth. — Good Books resemble 
Good Actions.— Books Necessaries of Life. — Moral Influence of 
Books 268 

CHAPTER XT. 

COMPANIONSHIP IN MAKIIIAGE. 

Character influenced by Marriage. — Mutual Relations of Man and 
Woman. — Views of Woman's Character. — Early Education of the 
Sexes. — Woman's Aflectionateness. — The Sentiment of Love. — 
Love an Inspirer and Purifier. — Man in the Home. — A Christian 
Household. — The Woman's Kingdom. — Brain- women and Heart- 
women. — Qualities of the True Wife. — The Golden Rule in Mar- 
riage. — Marrying for Beauty. — Moral Influence of the Wife. — De 
Tocqueville, Guizot. — Burke's Portrait of his Wife. — Mrs. Hutch- 
inson's Portrait of her Husband. — Lady Rachel Russell. — Wives of 
Bunyan, Baxter, Zinz^ndorf, Livingstone, Romilly, Burdett, Graham. 



Contents. xi 



— Wives as Plelpers of Scientific ]\Ien. — Wives of Biickland, Huber, 
Sir W. Hamilton, Niebuhr, IMill, Carlyle, Faraday, Tom Hood, Sir 
W. Napier. — A Galaxy of Noble Yv^omen. — Wives of Grotius, Heine, 
Herder, Fichte, Cohbett.— Character of Cobbett Page 302 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE DISCIPLINE OF EXPERIENCE. 

Practical Wisdom, how learned. — Evils of Seclusion. — The School of 
Life the True School of Experience. — Youthful Ardor, — Romance 
and Reality. — Enthusiasm and Perseverance.— The Apprenticeship 
of Difficulty. — Poverty a Stimulus. — Cervantes. — The Lessons of 
Failui-e. — Failures of Great Men. — Struggles of Genius. — Dante 
and Camoens. — The Revenges of Time. — Sufferings of Great Men. 
— Flinders the Navigator. — Illustrious Prisoners and Prison- writers. 
— Failure not always Loss. — Adversity a Touch-stone. — Trials and 
Blessings. — ^^Vork amidst Suffering. — Resignation in Affliction. — 
Is Happiness an Illusion ?-^The INIystery of Life. — Duty the Aim 
and End of Being 345 

INDEX 375 




CHARACTER. 



CHAPTER I. 

DfFLUEXCE OP CHAKACTEE. 

"Unless above himself he can 
Erect himself, how poor a thing is man !" — Daniel. 

"Character is moral order seen through the medium of an individ- 
ual nature Men of character are the conscience of the society 

to which they belong." — Emersox. 

"The prosperity of a country depends, not on the abundance of its 
revenues, nor on the strength of its fortifications, nor on the beauty of 
its pubUc buildings ; but it consists in the number of its cultivated cit- 
izens, in its men of education, enhghtenment, and character ; here are 
to be found its true interest, its chief strength, its real power." — Mar- 
tin Luther. 

CH^iACTER is one of the greatest motive powers 
in the world. In its noblest embodiments, it ex- 
emplifies human natm-e in its highest forms, for it ex- 
hibits man at his best. 

Men of genuine excellence, in every station of life 
— men of industiy, of integrity, of high principle, of 
sterling honesty of purpose — command the spontaneous 
homage of mankind. It is natural to believe in such 
men, to have confidence in them, and to imitate them. 
All that is good in the world is upheld by them, and 
without their presence in it the world would not be 
worth living in. 

Although genius always commands tidmiration, char- 
acter most secures respect. The former is more the 



14 Sphere of Common Duty. [chap. i. 

product of brain-power, the latter of heart-power ; and 
in the long run it is the heart tliat rules in life. Men 
of genius stand to society in the relation of its intellect, 
as men of character of its conscience ; and while the for- 
mer are admired, the latter are followed. 

Great men are always exceptional men; and great- 
ness itself is but comparative. Indeed, the range of 
most men in life is so limited, that very few have the 
opportunity of being great. But each man can act his 
part honestly and honorably, and to the best of his abil- 
ity. He can use his gifts, and not abuse them. He can 
strive to make the best of life. He can be true, just, 
honest, and faithful, even in small things. In a word, 
he can do his duty in that sphere in which Providence 
has placed him. 

Commonplace though it may appear, this doing of 
one's duty embodies the highest ideal of life and char- 
acter. There may be nothing heroic about it ; but the 
common lot of men is not heroic. And though the 
abiding sense of duty upholds man in his highest atti- 
tudes, it also equally sustains him in the transaction of 
the ordinary affairs of every-day existence. Man's life 
is "centred in the sphere of common duties!" The 
most influential of all the virtues are those which are 
the most in request for daily use. They wear the best, 
and last the longest. Superfine virtues, which are above 
the standard of common men, may only be sources of 
temptation and danger. Burke has truly said that " the 
human system which rests for its basis on the heroic vir- 
tues is sure to have a superstructure of weakness or of 
profligacy." 

When Dr. Abbot, afterwards Archbishop of Canter- 
bury, drew the character of his deceased friend Thomas 

Sackvil^'^he did not dwell upon his merits as a states- 

• ■ 

* Sackville, Lord Buckhurst, lord high treasurer under Elizabeth 
and James I. 



CHAP. I.] Sustaining Power of Duty. 15 

man, or bis genins as a poet, but upon bis virtues as a 
man in relation to tbc ordinary duties of life. "How 
many rare tbings were in bim !" said be. " Wbo more 
loving unto bis wife? — Wbo more kind unto bis cbil- 
dren? — Wbo more fast unto bis friend? — Who more 
moderate unto bis enemy? — Wbo more true to bis 
word ?" Indeed, we can always better understand and 
appreciate a man's real character by tbe manner in 
which be conducts himself towards those who are the 
most nearly related to bim, and by his transaction of 
the seemingly commonplace details of daily duty, than 
by bis public exhibition of himself as an author, an ora- 
tor, or a statesman. 

At the same time, while duty, for the most part, ap- 
plies to the conduct of affairs in common life by the 
average of common men, it is also a sustaining power to 
men of the very highest standard of character. They 
may not have either money, or property, or learning, or 
power ; and yet they may be strong in heart and rich in 
spirit — honest, truthful, dutiful. And whoever strives 
to do bis duty faithfully is fulfilling the purpose for 
which be was created, and building up in himself the 
principles of a manly character. There are many per- 
sons of whom it may be said that they have no other 
possession in the world but their character, and yet they 
stand as firmly upon it as any crowned king. 

Intellectual culture has no necessary relation to purity 
or excellence of character. In the I^ew Testardent, ap- 
l^eals are constantly made to tbe heart of man and to 
" the spirit we are of," while allusions to the intellect 
are of very rare occurrence. '^A handful of good life," 
says George Herbert, " is worth a bushel of learning." 
Not that learning is to be despised, but that it must be 
allied to goodness. Intellectual capacity is sometimes 
found associated with the meanest moral character — 
with abject servility to those in high places, and arro- 



16 Character above Learning. [chap. I. 

gance to those of low estate. A man may be accom- 
plished in art, literature, and science, and yet, in hones- 
ty, virtue, truthfulness, and the spirit of duty, be entitled 
to take rank after many a poor and illiterate peasant. 

" You insist," wrote Perthes to a friend, " on respect 
for learned men. I say. Amen I But at the same time, 
don't forget that largeness of mind, depth of thought, 
appreciation of the lofty, experience of the world, deli- 
cacy of manner, tact and energy in action, love of truth, 
honesty, and amiability — that all these may be wanting 
in a man who may yet be very learned."* 

When some one, in Sir Walter Scott's hearing, made 
a remark as to the value of literary talents and accom- 
plishments, as if they were above all things to be es- 
teemed and honored, he observed, " God help us ! what 
a poor world this would be if that were the true doc- 
trine ! I have read books enough, and observed and 
conversed with enough of eminent and splendidly-cul- 
tured minds, too, in my time; but I assure you, I have 
heard higher sentiments from, the lips of poor unedu- 
cated men and women, w^hen exerting the spirit of se- 
vere yet gentle heroism under difficulties and afflictions, 
or speaking their simple thoughts as to circumstances 
in the lot of friends and neighbors, than I ever yet met 
with out of the Bible. We shall never learn to feel 
and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have 
taught ourselves to consider every thing as moonshine, 
compared with the education of the heart."f 

Still less has wealth any necessary connection with 
elevation of character. On the contrary, it is much 
more frequently the cause of its corruption and degra- 
dation. Wealth and corruption, luxury and vice, have 
very close affinities to each other. Wealth in the hands 
of men of weak purpose, of deficient self-control, or of 



* "Life of Perthes," ii., 217. t Lockhavt's "Life of- Scott. 



CHAP. I.] Character above Wealth. 17 

ill-regulated passions, is only a temptation and a snare 
— the source, it may be, of infinite mischief to them- 
selves, and often to others. 

On the contrary, a condition of comparative poverty 
is compatible with character in its highest form. A 
man may possess only his industry, his frugality, his in- 
tegrity, and yet stand high in the rank of true manhood. 
The advice which Burns's father gave him was the best : 

" He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, 
For without an honest manly heart no man was worth regarding." 

One of the purest and noblest characters the writer 
ever knew was a laboring -man in a northern county, 
who brought up his family respectably on an income 
never amounting to more than ten shillings a week. 
Though possessed of only the rudiments of common ed- 
ucation, obtained at an ordinary parish school, he was 
a man full of wisdom and thoughtfulness. His library 
consisted of the Bible, " Flavel," and " Boston " — books 
which, excepting the first, probably few readers have 
ever heard of. This good man might have sat for 
the portrait of Wordsworth's well-known " Wanderer." 
When he had lived his modest life of work and wor- 
ship, and finally went to his rest, he left behind him a 
reputation for practical wisdom, for genuine goodness, 
and for helpfulness in every good work, which greater 
and richer men might have envied. 

When Luther died, he left behind him, as set forth in 
his will, '•' no ready money, no treasure of coin of any 
description." He was so poor at one part of his life, 
that he was under the necessity of earning his bread by 
turning, gardening, and clock-making. Yet, at the very 
time when he was thus working Avith his hands, he was 
moulding the character of his country ; and he was 
morally stronger, and vastly more honored and follow- 
ed, than all the princes of Germany. 



18 Honesty of Character. [chap. I. 

Character is property. It is the noblest of posses- 
sions. It is an estate in the general good-will and re- 
spect of men ; and they who invest in it — though they 
may not become rich in this world's goods — will find 
their reward in esteem and reputation fairly and honor- 
ably won. And it is right that in life good qualities 
should tell — that industry, virtue, and goodness should 
rank the highest — and that the really best men should 
be foremost. 

Simple honesty of purpose in a man goes a long way 
in life, if founded on a just estimate of himself and a 
steady obedience to the rule he knows and feels to be 
right. It holds a man straight, gives him strength and 
sustenance, and forms a mainspring of vigorous action. 
" No man," once said Sir Benjamin Rudyard, " is bound 
to be rich or great — no, nor to be wise ; but every man 
is bound to be honest."* 

But the purpose, besides being honest, must be in- 
spired by sound principles, and jDursued with unde- 
viating adherence to truth, integrity, and uprightness. 
Without principles, a man is like a ship without rudder 
or compass, left to drift hither and thither with every 
wind that blows. He is as one without law, or rule, or 
order, or government. " Moral principles," says Hume, 
" are social and universal. They form, in a manner, the 
IKiTty of humankind against vice and disorder, its com- 
mon enemy." 

Epictetus once received a visit from a certain mag- 
nificent orator going to Rome on a lawsuit, who wished 
to learn from the Stoic something of his philosophy. 
Epictetus received his visitor coolly, not believing in 
his sincerity. " You will only criticise my style," said 
he; "not really wishing to learn principles." — "Well, 
but," said the orator, " if I attend to that sort of thing, 

* Debate on the Petition of Kisht, a.d. 1G28. 



i 



CHAP. I.] Reliableness. 19 

I shall be a mere pauper, like you, with no plate, nor 
equipage, nor land." — " I don't wcmt such things," re- 
plied Epictetus ; " and besides, you are poorer than I 
am, after all. Patron or no patron, what care I ? You 
do care. I am richer than you. I don't care what 
Caesar thinks of me. I flatter no one. This is what I 
have, instead of your gold and silver plate. You have 
silver vessels, but earthenware reasons, principles, appe- 
tites. My mind to me a kingdom is, and it furnishes 
me with abundant and happy occupation in lieu of your 
restless idleness. All your possessions seem small to 
you ; mine seem great to me. Your desire is insatiate 
— mine is satisfied."* 

Talent is by no means rare in the world ; nor is even 
genius. But can the talent be trusted ? — can the ge- 
nius ? Not unless based on truthfulness — on veracity. 
It is this quality more than any other that commands 
the esteem and respect, and secures the confidence of 
others. Truthfulness is at the foundation of all person- 
al excellence. It exhibits itself in conduct. It is recti- 
tude — truth in action, and shines through every word 
and deed. It means reliableness, and convinces other 
men that it can be trusted. And a man is already of 
consequence in the world when it is known that he can 
be relied on — that when he says he knows a thing, he 
does know it — that when he says he will do a thing, he 
can do, and does it. Thus reliableness becomes a pass- 
port. to the general esteem and confidence of mankind. 

In the affairs of life or of business, it is not intellect 
that tells so much as character — not brains so much as 
heart — not genius so much as self-control, patience, and 
discipline, regulated by judgment. Hence there is no 
better provision for the uses of either private or public 
life, than a fair share of ordinary good sense guided by 

* The Rev. F. W. Fan-er's " Seekers after God,"' p. 241. 



20 Influence of Character. [chap. I. 

rectitude. Good sense, disciplined by experience and 
inspired by goodness, issues in practical wisdom. In- 
deed, goodness in a measure implies wisdom— the high- 
est wisdom — the union of the worldly with the spiritual. 
" The correspondences of wisdom and goodness," says 
Sir Henry Taylor, " are manifpld ; and that they will ac- 
company each other is to be inferred, not only because 
men's wisdom makes them good, but because their good- 
ness makes them wise."* 

It is because of this controlling power of character in 
life that we often see men exercise an amount of influ- 
ence apparently out of all proportion to their intellect- 
ual endowments. They appear to act by means of some 
latent power, some reserved force, which acts secretly, 
by mere presence. As Burke said of a powerful noble- 
man of the last century, " his virtues were his means." 
The secret is, that the aims of such men are felt to be 
pure and noble, and they act upon others with a con- 
straining power. 

Though the reputation of men of genuine character 
may be of slow growth, their true qualities can not be 
wholly concealed. They may be misrepresented by 
some, and misunderstood by others; misfortune and 
adversity may, for a time, overtake them ; but, with pa- 
tience and endurance, they will eventually inspire the 
respect and command the confidence which they really 
deserve. 

It has been said of Sheridan that, had he possessed 
reliableness of character, he might have ruled the world ; 
whereas, for want of it, his splendid gifts w^ere compar- 
atively useless. He dazzled and amused, but was with- 
out weight or influence in life or politics. Even the 
poor pantomimist of Drury Lane felt himself his supe- 
rior. Thus, when Delpini one day pressed the manager 

* "The Statesman," p. 30. 



CHAP. I.] Sheridan and Burke. 21 

for arrears of salary, Sheridan sharply reproved him, 
telling him he had forgotten his station. " No, indeed, 
Monsieur Sheridan, I have not," retorted Delpini ; " I 
know the difference between us perfectly well. In birth, 
parentage, and education, you are superior to me ; but 
in life, character, and behavior, 1 am superior to you." 

Unlike Sheridan, Burke, his countryman, was a great 
man of character. He was thirty-five before he gained 
a seat in Parliament, yet he found time to carve his 
name deep in the political history of England. He was 
a man of great gifts, and of transcendent force of x^har- 
acter. Yet he had a weakness, which proved a serious 
defect — it was his want of temper ; his genius was sac- 
rificed to his irritability. And without this apparently 
minor gift of temper, the most splendid endowments 
may be comparatively valueless to their possessor. 

Character is formed by a variety of minute circum- 
stances, more or less under the regulation and control 
of the individual. Not a day passes without its disci- 
pline, whether for good or for evil. There is no act, 
however trivial, but has its train of consequences, as 
there is no hair so small but casts its shadow. It was 
a wise saying of Mrs. Schimmelpenninck's mother, nev- 
er to give way to what is little ; or by that little, how- 
ever you may despise it, you will be practically gov- 
erned. 

Every action, every thought, every feeling, contributes 
to the education of the temper, the habits, and under- 
standing, and exercises an inevitable influence upon all 
the acts of our future life. Thus character is undergo- 
ing constant change, for better or for worse — either be- 
ing elevated on the one hand, or degraded on the other. 
" There is no fault nor folly of my life," says Mr. Rus- 
kin, " that does not rise up against me, and take away 
my joy, and shorten my power of possession, of sight, of 
understanding. And every past effort of my life, every 



22 Character and Circumstances. [chap. i. 

gleam of Tightness or good in it, is with me noy^, to helj^ 
me in my grasp of this art and its vision."* 

The mechanical law, that action and reaction are 
equal, holds true also in morals. Good deeds act and 
react on the doers of them ; and so do evil. Not only 
so : they produce like effects, by the influence of exam- 
ple, on those who are the subjects of them. But man 
is not the creature, so much as he is the creator, of cir- 
cumstances ;f and, by the exercise of his free-will, he 
can direct his actions so that they shall be productive 
of good rather than evil. "Nothing can work me 
damage but myself," said St. Bernard ; " the harm that 
I sustain I carry about with me ; and I am never a real 
sufferer but by my own fault." 

The best sort of character, however, can not be formed 
without effort. There needs the exercise of constant 
self-watchfulness, self-disciphne, and self-control. There 
may be much faltering, stumbling, and temporary de- 
feat ; difficulties and temptations manifold to be battled 
with and overcome ; but if the spirit be strong and the 
heart be upright, no one need despair of ultimate suc- 
cess. The very effort to advance — to arrive at a higher 
standard of character than we have reached — is inspir- 
ing and invigorating; and even though we may fall 
short of it, we can not fail to be improved by every 
honest effort made in an upward direction. 

* " Queen of the Air," p. 127. 

t Instead of saying that man is the creature of circumstance, it 
would be nearer the mark to say that man is the architect of circum- 
stance. It is character "vvhich builds an existence out of circum- 
stance. Our strength is measured by our plastic power. From the 
same materials one man builds palaces, another hovels : one ware- 
houses, another villas. Bricks and mortar are mortar and bricks, un- 
til the architect can make them something else. Thus it is that in 
the same family, in the same circumstances, one man rears a stately 
edifice, while his brother, vacillating and incompetent, lives forever 
amid ruins : the block of granite which was an obstacle on the path- 
way of the weak, becomes a stepping-stone on the pathway of the 
strong." — G. H. Lewes, Life of Goethe. 



CHAP. I.] Formation of Character. 23 

And with the hght of great examples to guide us — 
representatives of humanity in its best forms — every 
one is not only justified, but bound in duty, to aim at 
reaching the highest standard of character: not to be- 
come the richest in means, but in spirit ; not the great- 
est in worldly position, but in true honor ; not the most 
intellectual, but the most virtuous ; not the most power- 
ful and influential, but the most truthful, upright, and 
honest. 

It was very characteristic of the late prince consort — 
a man himself of the purest mind, who powerfully im- 
pressed and influenced others by the sheer force of his 
own benevolent nature — when drawing up the condi- 
tions of the annual prize to be given by her majesty 
at Wellington College, to determine that it should be 
awarded, not to the cleverest boy, nor to the most book- 
ish boy, nor to the most precise, diligent, and prudent 
boy, but to the noblest boy, to the boy who should show 
the most promise of becoming a large-hearted, high-mo- 
tived man.'^' 

Character exhibits itself in conduct, guided and in- 
spired by principle, integrity, and practical wisdom. In 
its highest form, it is the individual will acting energet- 
ically under the influence of religion, morality, and rea- 
son. It chooses its way considerately, and pursues it 
steadfastly ; esteeming duty above reputation, and the 
approval of conscience more. than the world's praise. 
While respecting the personality of others, it preserves 
its own individuality and independence ; and has the 
courage to be morally honest, though it may be unpop- 
ular, trusting tranquilly to time and experience for rec- 
ognition. 

Although the force of example will always exercise 
great influence upon the formatioji of character, the 

* Introduction to ' ' The Principal Speeches and Addresses of H. R. H. 
the Prince Consort " (1862), pp. 39, 40. 



24 Force of Character. [chap. i. 

self-originatiDg and sustaining force of one's own spirit 
must be the main-stay. This alone can hold up the life, 
and give individual independence and energy. "Un- 
less man can erect himself above himself," said Daniel, 
a poet of the Elizabethan era, " how poor a thing is 
man !" Without a certain degree of practical efficient 
force — compounded of will, which is the root, and wis- 
dom, which is the stem of character — life will be indefi- 
nite and purposeless — like a body of stagnant water, in- 
stead of a running stream doing useful work and keep- 
ing the machinery of a district in motion. 

When the elements of character are brought into ac- 
tion by determinate will, and, influenced by high pur- 
130se, man enters ujDOn and courageously perseveres in 
the path of duty, at whatever cost of worldly interest, 
he may be said to approach the summit of his being. 
He -then exhibits character in its most intrepid form, 
and embodies the highest idea of manliness. The acts 
of such a man become repe'ated in the life and action of 
others. Plis very words live and become actions. Thus 
every word of Luther's rang through Germany like a 
trumpet. As Richter said of him, " His words were 
half -battles." And thus Luther's life became transfused 
into the life of his country, and still lives in the charac- 
ter of modern Germany. 

On the other hand, energy, without integrity and a 
soul of goodness, may only represent the embodied 
principle of evil. It is observed by Novalis, in his 
" Thoughts on Morals," that the ideal of moral perfec- 
tion has no more dangerous rival to contend with than 
the ideal of the highest strength and the most energetic 
life, the maximum of the barbarian — which needs only 
a due admixture of pride, ambition, and selfishness, to 
be a perfect ideal /)f the devil. Among men of such 
stamp are found the greatest scourges and devastators 
of the world — those elect scoundrels whom Providence, 



CHAP. I.] The Inspiration of Energy. 25 

in its inscrutable designs, permits to fulfill their mission 
of destruction upon earth.* 

Very different is the man of energetic character in- 
spired by a noble spirit, whose actions are governed by 
rectitude, and the law of whose life is duty. He is just 
aud upright — in his business dealings, in his public ac- 
tion, and in his family life : justice being as essential in 
the government of a home as of a nation. Pie will be 
honest in all things — in his words and in his work. He 
will be generous and merciful to his opponents, as well 
as to those who are weaker than himself. It was truly 
said of Sheridan — who, with all his improvidence, was 
generous, and never gave pain — that 

"His wit in the combat, as gentle as blight, 
Never carried a heart-stain away on its blade." 

Such also* was the character of Fox, who commanded 
the affection and service of others by his uniform heart- 
iness and sympathy. He was a man who could always 
be most easily touched on the side of his honor. Thus 
the story is told of a tradesman calling upon him one 
day for the payment of a promissory note which he 
presented. Fox was engaged at the time in counting 
out gold. The tradesman asked to be paid from the 
money before him. " No," said Fox, " I owe this money 
to Sheridan ; it is a debt of honor ; if any accident hap- 
pened to me, he would have nothing to show." " Then," 



* Among the latest of these was Napoleon " the Great," a man of 
abounding energy, but destitute of principle. He had the lowest opin- 
ion of his fellow-men. " Men are hogs, who feed on gold," he once 
said : " well, I throw them gold, and lead them whithersoever I will." 
When the Abbe de Pradt, archbishop of Malines, was setting out on 
his embassy to Poland in 1812, Napoleon's parting instruction to him 
was, " Tenez bonne table et soignez les femmes " — of which Benja- 
min Constant said that such an observation, addressed to a feeble 
priest of sixty, shows Bonaparte's profound contempt for the human 
race, without distinction of nation or sex. 

B 



26 The Conscientious Man. [char I. 

said the tradesman, " I change my debt into one of hon- 
or;" and he tore up the note. Fox was conquered by 
the act: he thanked the man for his confidence, and 
paid him, saying, "Then' Sheridan must wait; yours is 
the debt of older standing." 

The man of character is conscientious. He puts his 
conscience into his work, into his words, into his every 
action. When Cromwell asked the Parliament for sol- 
diers in lieu of the decayed serving-men and tapsters 
who filled the Commonwealth's army, he required that 
they should be men "who made some conscience of 
what they did ;" and such were the men of which his 
celebrated regiment of " Ironsides " was composed. 

The man of character is also reverential. The pos- 
session of this quality marks the noblest and highest 
type of manhood and womanhood : reverence for things 
consecrated by the homage of generation s-^-f or high 
objects, ]3ure thoughts, and noble aims — for the great 
men of former times, and the high-minded workers 
among our contemporaries. Reverence is alike indis- 
pensable to the happiness of individuals, of families, 
and of nations. Without it there can be no trust, no 
faith, no confidence, either in man or God — neither so- 
cial peace nor social progress. For reverence is but an- 
other word for religion, which binds men to each other, 
and all to God. 

"The man of noble spirit," says Sir Thomas Over- 
bury, " converts all occurrences into experience, between 
which experience and his reason there is marriage, and 
the issue are his actions. He moves by affection, not 
for affection ; he loves glory, scorns shame, and govern- 
eth and obeyeth with one countenance, for it comes 
from one consideration. Knowing reason to be no idle 
gift of nature, he is the steersman of his own destiny. 
Truth is his goddess, and he takes pains to get her, not 
to look like her. Unto the society of men he is a sun, 



CHAP. I.] The Quality of Reverence. 27 

whose clearness directs their steps in a regular motion. 
He is the wise man's friend, the example of the indiffer- 
ent, the medicine of the vicious. Thus time goeth not 
from him, but with him, and he feels age more by the 
strength of his soul than by the weakness of his body. 
Thus feels he no pain, but esteems all such things as 
friends, that desire to file off his fetters, and help him 
out of prison."* 

Energy of will — self-originating force — is the soul of 
every great character. Where it is, there is life ; where 
it is not, there is faintness, helplessness, and desponden- 
cy. " The strong man and the water-fall," says the prov- 
erb, " channel their own path." The energetic leader 
of noble spirit not only wins a way for himself, but 
carries others with him. His every act has a personal 
significance, indicating vigor, independence, and self-reli- 
ance, and unconsciously commands respect, admiration, 
and homage. Such intrepidity of character character- 
ized Luther, Cromwell, Washington, Pitt, Wellington, 
and all great leaders of men. 

"I am convinced," said Mr. Gladstone, in describing 
the qualities of the late Lord Palmerston in the House 
of Commons, shortly after his death — " I am convinced 
that it was the force of will, a sense of duty, and a de- 
termination not to give in, that enabled him to make 
himself a model for all of us who yet remain and follow 
him, with feeble and unequal steps, in the discharge of 
our duties ; it was that force of will that in point of 
fact did not so much struggle against the infirmities of 
old age, but actually repelled them and kept them at a 
distance. And one other quality there is, at least, that 
may be noticed without the smallest risk of stirring in 
any breast a painful emotion. It is this, that Lord 
Palmerston had a nature incapable of enduring anger 

* Condensed from Sir Thomas Ovevbury's "Characters" (1614-). 



28 Oontagious'iiess of Energy. [CHAP. I. 

or any sentiment of wrath. This freedom from wrath- 
ful sentiment was not the result of painful effort, but 
the spontaneous fruit of the mind. It was a noble gift 
of his original nature — a gift which beyond all others it 
was delightful to observe, delightful also to remember 
in connection with him who has left us, and with whom 
we have no longer to do, except in endeavoring to profit 
by his example wherever it can lead us in the path of 
duty and of right, and of bestowing on him those trib-. 
utes of admiration and affection which he deserves at 
our hands." 

The great leader attracts to himself men of kindred 
character, drawing them towards him as the loadstone 
draws iron. Thus, Sir John Moore early distinguished 
the three brothers l^apier from the crowd of officers by 
whom he was surrounded, and they, on their part, repaid 
him by their passionate admiration. They were capti- 
vated by his courtesy, his bravery, and his lofty disin- 
terestedness ; and he became the model whom they re- 
solved to imitate, and, if possible, to emulate. " Moore's 
influence," says the biographer of Sir William l^apier, 
"had a signal effect in forming and maturing their char- 
acters ; and it is no small glory to have been the hero of 
those three men, while his early discovery of their men- 
tal and moral qualities is a proof of Moore's own pene- 
tration and judgment of character." 

There is a contagiousness in every example of ener- 
getic conduct. The brave man is an inspiration to the 
weak, and compels them, as it were, to follow him. 
Thus ISTapier relates that at the combat of Yera, when 
the Spanish centre was broken and in flight, a young 
officer, named Havelock, sprang forward, and, waving 
his hat, called upon the Spaniards within sight to follow 
him. Putting spurs to his horse, he leaped the abattis 
which protected tlie French front, and went headlong 
against them. The Spaniards were electrified ; in a 



CHAP, I.] Influence of Washington. 29 

moment they dashed after him, cheering for ^^El chico 
bianco !'''' (the fair boy), and with one shock they 
broke through the French and sent them flying down- 
hill.*. 

And so it is in ordinary life. The good and the 
great draw others after them; they lighten and lift np 
all who are within reach of their influence. They are 
as so many living centres of beneficent activity. Let a 
man of energetic and upright character be appointed to 
a position of trust and authority, and all who serve un- 
der him become, as it were, conscious of an increase 
of power. When Chatham was appointed minister, his 
personal influence was at once felt through all the rami- 
fications of office. Every sailor who served under Nel- 
son, and knew he was in command, shared the inspira- 
tion of the hero. 

When Washington consented to act as commander- 
in-chief, it was felt as if the strength of the American 
forces had been more than doubled. Many years later, 
in 1798, when Washington, grown old, had withdrawn 
from public life and was living in retirement at Mount 
Vernon, and when it seemed probable that France 
would declare war against the United States, President 
Adams wrote to him, saying, " We must have your 
name, if you will permit us to use it ; there will be 
more efficacy in it than in many an army." Such was 
the esteem in which the great President's noble char- 

* "History of the Peninsular War," v., 319. — Napier mentions an- 
other striking illustration of the influence of personal qualities in 
young Edward Freer, of the same regiment (the 43d), who, when he 
fell at the age of nineteen, at the battle of the Nivelle, had already 
seen more combats and sieges than he could count years. " So slight 
in person, and of such surpassing beauty, that the Spaniards often 
thought him a girl disguised in man's clothing, he was yet so vigor- 
ous, so active, so brave, that the most daring and expeiienced veter- 
ans watched his looks on the field of battle, and, implicitly following 
where he led, would, like children, obey his slightest sign in the most 
difficult situations." 



J 



80 The Duke of Wellington. [chap. i. 

acter and eminent abilities were held by his country- 
men !* 

An incident is related by the historian of the Penin- 
sular War, illustrative of the personal influence -exer- 
cised by a great commander over his followers. The 
British army lay at Sauroren, before which Soult was 
advancing, prepared to attack in force. Wellington 
was absent, and his arrival was anxiously looked for. 
Suddenly a single horseman was seen riding up the 
mountain alone. It was the duke, about to join his 
troops. " One of Campbell's Portuguese battalions first 
descried him, and raised a joyful cry ; then the shrill 
clamor, caught up by the next regiment, soon swelled 
as it ran along the line into that appalling shout which 
the British soldier is wont to give upon the edge of bat- 
tle, and which no enemy ever heard unmoved. Sud- 
denly he stopped at a conspicuous point, for he desired 
both armies should know he was there, and a double 
spy who was present pointed out Soult, w^ho was so 
near that his features could be distinguished. Atten- 
tively Wellington fixed his eyes on that formidable 
man, and, as if speaking to himself, he said : " Yonder 
is a great commander; but he is cautious, and will de- 

* ^Mien the dissolution of the Union at one time seemed imminent, 
and Washington wished to retire into private life, Jefferson \^rote to 
him, urging his continuance in office. "The confidence of the whole 
Union," he said, "centres in you. Your being at the helm Tvill be 
more than an answer to eveiy argument which can be used to alarm 
and lead the people in any quarter into violence and secession. . , . 
There is sometimes an eminence of character on which society has 
such peculiar claims as to control the predilection of the individual 
for a particular walk of happiness, and restrain him to that alone 
arising from the present and future benedictions of mankind. This 
seems to be your condition, and the law imposed on you by Prov- 
idence in forming your character and fashioning the events on which 
it was to operate ; and it is to motives like these, and not to personal 
anxieties of mine or others, who have no right to call on you for sac- 
rifices, that I appeal from your former determination, and urge a re- 
visal of it, on the ground of change in the aspect of things." — Sparks's 
Life of Washington, i., 480. 



CHAP. I.] Influence of Character. 81 

lay his attack to ascertain the cause of those cheers; 
that will give time for the Sixth Division to arrive, and 
I shall beat him " — which he did.* 

In some cases, personal character acts by a kind of 
talismanic influence, as if certain men were the organs 
of a sort of supernatural force. " If I but stamp on the 
ground in Italy," said Pompey, " an army w ill appear." 
At the voice of Peter the Hermit, as described by the 
historian, " Europe arose, and precipitated itself upon 
Asia." It was said of the Caliph Omar that his walk- 
in sf-stick struck more terror into those who saw it than 
another man's sword. The very names of some men 
are like the sound of a trumpet. When the Douglas 
lay mortally wounded on the field of Otterburn, he or- 
dered his name to be shouted still louder than before, 
saying there was a tradition in his family that a dead 
Douglas should win a battle. His followers, inspired 
by the sound, gathered fresh courage, raUied, and con- 
quered; and thus, in the words of the Scottish poet: 

"The Douglas dead, his name hath won the field."! 

There have been some men whose greatest conquests 
have been achieved after they themselves were dead. 
''Never," says Michelet, " was Caesar more alive, more 
powerful, more terrible, than when his old and worn- 
out body, his withered corpse, lay pierced w4th -blows; 
he appeared then purified, redeemed — that which he 
had been, despite his many stains — the man of hu- 
manity."J; Never did the great character of William 
of Orange, surnamed the Silent, exercise greater power 
over his countrymen than after his assassination at 
Delft by the emissary of tlie Jesuits. On the very day 
of his murder the Estates of Holland resolved " to main- 

* Napier's " History of the Peninsular War," v., 226, 
t Sir W. Scott's "History of Scotland," vol, i., chap. xvi. 
-X Michelet's " Histoiy of Eome," p. 371. 



82 Reverence for Great Men. [CHAP. I. 

tain the good cause, with God's help, to the uttermost, 
without sparing gold or blood;" and they kept their 
word. 

The same illustration applies to all history and mor- 
als. The career of a great man remains an enduring 
monument of human energy. The man dies and dis- 
appears ; but his thoughts and acts survive, and leave 
an indelible stamp upon his race. And thus the spirit 
of his life is prolonged and perpetuated, moulding the 
thought and will, and thereby contributing to form the 
character of the future. It is the men that advance in 
the highest and best directions who are the true bea- 
cons of human progress. They are as lights set upon a 
hill, illumining the moral atmosphere around them ; and 
the light of their sj)irit continues to shine upon all suc- 
ceeding generations. 

It is natural to admire and revere really great men. 
They hallow the nation to which they belong, and lift 
np not only all who live in their time, but those who 
live after them. Their great example becomes the 
common heritage of their race; and their great deeds 
and great thoughts are the most glorious of legacies to 
mankind. They connect the present with the past, and 
help on the increasing purpose of the future; holding 
aloft the standard of principle, maintaining the dignity 
of human character, and filling the mind with traditions 
and instincts of all that is most worthy and noble in lifje. 

Character embodied in thought and deed, is of the 
nature of immortality. The solitary thought of a great 
thinker will dwell in the minds of men for centuries, un- 
til at length it works itself into their daily life and prac- 
tice. It lives on through the ages, speaking as a voice 
from the dead, and influencing minds living thousands 
of years apart. Thus, Moses and David and Solomon, 
Plato and Socrates and Xenophon, Seneca and Cicero 
and Epictetus, still speak to us as from their tombs. 



CHAP. I.] Influence of Great Men. 83 

They still arrest the attentioD, and exercise an influence 
upon character, though their thoughts be conveyed in 
languages unspoken by them, and in their time unknown. 
Theodore Parker has said that a single man like Socra- 
tes was worth more to a country than many such States 
as South Carolina ; that if that State went out of the 
world to-day, she would not have done so much for the 
w^orld as Socrates.* 

Great workers and great thinkers are the true makers 
of history, which is but continuous humanity influenced 
by men of character — by great leaders, kings, priests, 
philosophers, statesmen, and patriots — the true aristoc- 
racy of man. Indeed, Mr. Carlyle has broadly stated 
that Universal History is, at bottom, but the history of 
Great Men. They certainly mark and designate the 
epochs of national life. Their influence is active, as 
well as reactive. Though their mind is, in a measure, 
the product of their age, the public mind is also, to a 
great extent, their creation. Their individual action 
identifies the cause — the institution. They think great 
thoughts, cast them abroad, and the thoughts make 
events. Thus the early Reformers initiated the Ref- 
ormation, and with it the liberation of modern thought. 
Emerson has said that every institution is to be regard- 
ed as but the lengthened shadow of some great man : as 
Islamism of Mohammed, Puritanism of Calvin, Jesuit- 
ism of Loyola, Quakerism of Fox, Methodism of Wesley, 
Abolitionism of Clarkson. 

Great men stamp their mind upon their age and na- 
tion — as Luther did upon modern Germany, and Knox 
upon Scotland. f And if there be one man more than 

* Erasmus so reverenced the character of Socrates that he said, 
when he considered his life and doctrines, he was inclined to put him 
in the calendar of saints, and to exclaim, Sancte Socrates, or a pro 
nobis!" (Holy Socrates, pray for us!). 

t "Honor to all the brave and true; everlasting honor to John 
Knox, one of the truest of the true ! That, in the moment -while he 

B2 



84: Daniels Influence on Italy. [CHAP. i. 



another that stamped his mind on modern Italy, it 
was Dante. During the long centuries of Italian deg- 
radation his burning words were as a watch-fire and a 
beacon to all true men. He was the herald of his na- 
tion's liberty — braving persecution, exile, and death, for 
the love of it. He was always the most national of the 
Italian poets, the most loved, the most read. From the 
time of his death all educated Italians had his best pas- 
sages by heart ; and the sentiments they enshrined in- 
spired their lives, and eventually influenced the history 
of their nation. ^'The Italians," wrote Byron in 1821, 
" talk Dante, write Dante, and think and dream Dante, 
at this moment, to an excess which would be ridiculous, 
but that he deserves their admiration."* 



and his cause, amid civil broils, in convulsion and confusion, were still 
but struggling for life, he sent the school-master forth to all corners, 
and said, ' Let the people be taught :' this is but one, and, indeed, an 
inevitable and comparatively inconsiderable item in his great message 
to men. This message, in its true compass, v/as, 'Let men know 
that they are men ; created by God, responsible to God ; who work 
in any meanest moment of time what will last through eternity. . . .' 
This great message Knox did deliver, with a man's voice and strength, 
and found a people to believe him. Of such an achievement, were it 
to be made once only, the results are immense. Thought, in such a 
country, may change its form, but can not go out ; the country has 
attained majority ; thought, and a certain spiritual manhood, ready 
for all work that man can do, endures there. . . . The Scotch national 
character originated in many circumstances ; first of all, in the Saxon 
stuff there was to work on ; but next, and beyond all else except that, 
is the Presbyterian Gospel of John Knox." — Cakly-l^'^ Miscellanies, 
iv., 118. 

* Moore's "Life of Byron," 8vo ed., p. 484:. — Dante was a relig- 
ious as well as a political reformer. He was a reformer three hundred 
years before the Reformation, advocating the separation of the spirit- 
ual from the ci^dl power, and declaring the temporal government of 
the Pope to be an usurpation. The following memorable words were 
written over five hundred and sixty years ago, while Dante was still a 
member of the Roman Catholic Church : "Every Divine law is found 
in one or other of the two Testaments ; but in neither can I find that 
the care of temporal matters was given to the priesthood. On the 
contrary, I find that the first priests were removed fi'om them by law, 
and the later priests by command of Christ to his disciples." — De 
Monarchid, lib. iii., cap. xi. Dante also, still cUnging to "the Church 



CHAP. I.] Character a great Legacy. 85 

A succession of variously gifted men in different ages 
— extending from Alfred to Albert — has in like manner 
contributed, by their life and example, to shape the mul- 
tiform character of England. Of these, probably the 
most influential were the men of the Elizabethan and 
Cromwellian, and the intermediate periods — among 
which we find the great names of Shakspeare, Raleigh, 
Burleigh, Sidney, Bacon, Milton, Herbert, Hampden, 
Pym, Eliot, Yane, Cromwell, and many more — some of 
them men of great force, and others of great dignity 
and purity of character. The lives of such men have 
become part of the public life of England, and their 
deeds and thoughts are regarded as among the most 
cherished bequeathments from the past. 

So Washington left behind him, as one of the great- 
est treasures of his country, the example of a stainless 
life — of a great, honest, pure, and noble character — a 
model for his nation to form themselves by in all time 
to come. And in the case of Washington, as in so 
many other great leaders of men, his greatness did not 
so much consist in his intellect, his skill, and his genius, 
as in his honor, his integrity, his truthfulness, his high 
and controlling sense of duty — in a word, in his genuine 
^ nobility of character. 

Men such as these are the true life-blood of the coun- 
try to which they belong. They elevate and. uphold it, 
fortify and ennoble it, and shed a glory over it by the 
example of life and character which they have bequeath- 
ed. " The names and memories of great men," says an 
able writer, " are the dowry of a nation. Widowhood, 
overthrow, desertion, even slavery, can not take away 
from her this sacred inheritance. . . . Whenever na- 



he wished to reform," thus anticipated the fundamental doctrine of the 
Reformation : ' ' Before the Chm-ch are the Old and New Testaments ; 
after the Chm-ch are traditions. It follows, then, that the authority 
of the Church depends, not on traditions, but traditions on the Church," 



36 Character of Nations. [chap. I. 

tional life begins to quicken .... the dead heroes rise 
in the memories of men, and appear to the living to 
stand by in solemn spectatorship and approval. ^"0 
country can be lost which feels herself overlooked by 
such glorious witnesses. They are the salt of tha earth, 
in death as well as in life. What they did once, their 
descendants have still and always a right to do after 
them ; and their example lives in their country, a con- 
tinual stimulant and encouragement for him who has 
the soul to adopt it."* 

But it is not great men only that have to be taken 
into account in estimating the qualities of a nation, but 
the character that pervades the great body of the peo- 
ple. When Washington Irving visited Abbotsford, Sir 
Walter Scott introduced him to many of his friends and 
favorites, not only among the neighboring farmers, but 
the laboring peasantry. " I wish to show you," said 
Scott, " some of our really excellent plain Scotch peo- 
.ple. The character of a nation is not to be learnt from 
its fine folks, its fine gentlemen and ladies; such you 
meet everywhere, and they" are everywhere the same." 
While statesmen, philosophers, and divines represent 
the thinking power of society, the men who found in- 
dustries and carve out new careers, as well as the com- 
mon body of working-people, from whom the national 
strength a^d spirit are from time to time recruited, 
must necessarily furnish the vital force and constitute 
the real backbone of every nation. 

Nations have their character to maintain as well as 
individuals ; and under constitutional governments — 
where all classes more or less participate in the exercise 
of political power — the national character will necessa- 
rily depend more upon the moral qualities of the many 
than of the few. And the same qualities which deter- 

* "Blackwood's Magazine," June, 18G3, art. Girolamo Savonarola. 



CHAP. I.] Character and Freedom. 37 

mine the character of individuals also determine the 
character of nations. Unless they are high-minded, 
truthful, honest, virtuous, and courageous, they will bo 
held in light esteem by other nations, and be without 
weight in the world. To have character, they must 
needs also be reverential, disciplined, self- controlling, 
and devoted to duty. The nation that has no higher 
god than pleasure, or even dollars or calico, must needs 
be in a poor way. It were better to revert to Homer's 
gods than be devoted to these; for the heathen deities 
at least imaged human virtues, and were something to 
look up to. 

As for institutions, however good in themselves, they 
will avail but little in maintaining the standard of 
national character. It is the individual men, and the 
spirit which actuates them, that determine the moral 
standing and stability of nations. Government, in the 
long run, is usually no better than the people governed. 
Where the mass is sound in conscience, morals, and 
habit, the nation will be ruled honestly and nobly. But 
where they are corrupt, self-seeking, and dishonest in 
heart, bound neither by truth nor by law, the rule of 
rogues and wire-pullers becomes inevitable. 

The only true barrier against the despotism of public 
opinion, whether it be of the many or of the few, is 
enlightened individual freedom and purity of personal 
character. Without these there can be no vigorous 
manhood, no true liberty in a nation. Political rights, 
however broadly framed, will not elevate a people indi- 
vidually depraved. Indeed, the more complete a system 
of popular suffrage, and the more perfect its protection, 
the more completely will the real character of a people 
be reflected, as by a mirror, in their laws and govern- 
ment. Political morality can never have any solid ex- 
istence on a basis of individual immorality. Even free- 
dom, exercised by a debased people, would come to be 



88 Nations strengthened hy Trials. [chap. i. 

regarded as a nuisance, and liberty of the press but a 
vent for licentiousness and moral abomination. 

Nations, like individuals, derive support and strength 
from the feeling that they belong to an illustrious race, 
that they are the heirs of their greatness, and ought to 
be the perpetuators of their glory. It is of momentous 
importance that a" nation should have a great past* to 
look back upon. It steadies the life of the present, ele- 
vates and upholds it, and lightens and lifts it up, by the 
memory of the great deeds, the noble sufferings, and the 
valorous achievements of the men of old. The life of 
nations, as of men, is a great treasury of experience, 
which, vv'isely used, issues in social progress and im- 
provement ; or, misused, issues in dreams, delusions, and 
failure. Like men, nations are purified and strength- 
ened by trials. Some of the most glorious chapters in 
their history are those containing the record of the suf- 
ferings by means of which their character has been de- 
veloped. Love of liberty and patriotic feeling may have 
done much, but trial and suffering nobly borne more 
than all. 
/ A great deal of what passes by the name of patriot- 
ism in these days consists of the merest bigotry and 
narrow-mindedness; exhibiting itself in national preju- 
dice, national conceit, and national hatred. It does not 
show itself in deeds, but in boastings — in bowlings, ges- 
ticulations, and shrieking helplessly for help — in flying 
flags and singing songs — and in perpetual grinding at 
the hurdy-gurdy of long-dead grievances and long-reme- 

* One of the last passages in the Diary of Dr. Arnold, written the 
year before his death, was as follows : " It is the misfortune of France 
that her 'past' can not be loved or respected — her future and her 
present can not be wedded to it ; yet how can the present yield fruit, 
or the future have promise, except their roots be fixed in the past ? 
The evil is infinite, but the blame rests with those who made the past 
a dead thing, out of which no healthful life could be produced."— ii/e, 
ii., 387, 388 (ed. 1858). 



CHAP. I.] JSfohle and Ignoble Patriotism. 39 

died wrongs. To be infested by such a patriotism as )^ 
this is perhaps among the greatest curses that can be- 
fall any country. 

But as there is an ignoble, so is there a noble pa- 
triotism — the patriotism that invigorates and elevates a 
country by noble work — that does its duty truthfully 
and manfully — that lives an honest, sober, and upright 
life, and strives to make the best use of the opportuni- 
ties for improvement that present -themselves on every 
side; and at the same time a patriotism that cherishes 
the memory and example of the great men of old, who, 
by their sufferings in the cause of religion or of free- 
dom, have won for themselves a deathless glory, and 
for their nation those privileges of free life and free po- 
litical institutions of which they are the inheritors and 
possessors. 

Nations are not to be judged by their size any more 
than individuals : 

" It is not gro.wing like a tree 
In bulk, doth make Man better be." 

For a nation to be great, it need not necessarily be big, 
though bigness is often confounded with greatness. A 
nation may be very big in point of territory and popu- 
lation, and yet be devoid of true greatness. The peo- 
ple of Israel were a small people, yet what a great life 
they developed, and how powerful the influence they 
have exercised on the destinies of mankind ! Greece 
was not big : the entire population of Attica was less 
than that of South Lancashire. Athens was less popu- 
lous than New York ; and yet how great it was in art, 
in literature, in philosophy, and in patriotism !* 

* A public orator lately spoke with contempt of tlie Battle of Mar- 
athon, because only 192 men perished on the side of the Athenians, 
whereas by improved mechanism and destructive chemicals, some 
50,000 men or more may now be destroyed within a few hooi's. Yet 



40 Decline and Fall of Nations. [chap. i. 

But it was the fatal weakness of Athens that its citi- 
zens had no true family or home life, while its freemen 
were greatly outnumbered by its slaves. Its public men 
were loose, if not corrupt, in morals. Its women, even 
the most accomplished, were unchaste. Hence its fall 
became inevitable, and was even more sudden than its 
rise. 

In like manner, the decline and fall of Rome was at- 
tributable to the general corruption of its people, and to 
their engrossing love of pleasure and idleness — work, in 
the later days of Rome, being regarded only as fit for 
slaves. Its citizens ceased to pride themselves on the 
virtues of character of their great forefathers ; and the 
empire fell because it did not deserve to live. And so 
the nations that are idle and luxurious — that " will rath- 
er lose a pound of blood," as old Burton says, " in a sin- 
gle combat, than a drop of sweat in any honest labor " 
— must inevitably die out, and laborious, energetic na- 
tions take their place. 

When Louis XIY. asked Colbert how it was that, 
ruling so great and populous a country as France, he 
had been unable to conquer so small a country as Hol- 
land, the minister replied: " Because, sire, the greatness 
of a country does not depend upon the extent of its ter- 
ritory, but on the character of its people. It is because 
of the industry, the frugality, and the energy of the 
Dutch that your majesty has found them so difficult to 
overcome." 

It is also related of Spinola and Richardet, the am- 
bassadors sent by the King of Spain to negotiate a 
treaty at the Hague in 1608, that one day they saw 
some eight or ten persons land from a little boat, and, 
sitting down upon the grass, proceed to make a meal of 

the Battle of Marathon, and the heroism displayed in it, -wall prohahly 
continue to be remembered when the gigantic butcheries of modern 
times have been forgotten. 



CHAP, I.] Stability of Character. 41 

bread-and-cheese and beer. " Who are those travellers ?" 
asked the ambassadors of a peasant. "These are our 
worshipful masters, the deputies from the States," was 
his reply. Spinola at once whispered to his companion, 
" We must make peace : these are not men to be con- 
quered." 

In fine, stability of institutions must depend upon 
stability of character. Any number of depraved units 
can not form a great nation. The people may seem to 
be highly civilized, and yet be ready to fall to pieces at 
the first touch of adversity. Without integrity of indi- 
vidual character, they can have no real strength, cohe- 
sion, or soundness. They may be rich, polite, and artist- 
ic, and yet hovering on the brink of ruin. If living 
for themselves only, and with no end but pleasure — 
each little self his own little god — such a nation is 
doomed, and its decay is inevitable. 

Where national character ceases to be upheld, a na- 
tion may be regarded as next to lost. Where it ceases 
to esteem and to practise the virtues of truthfulness, 
honesty, integrity, and justice, it does not deserve to 
live. And when the time arrives in any country when 
wealth has so corrupted, or pleasure so depraved, or 
faction so infatuated the people, that honor, order, obe- 
dience, virtue, and loyalty have seemingly become things 
of the past; then, amidst the darkness, when honest 
men — if, haply, there be such left — are groping about 
and feeling for each other's hands, their only remaining 
hope will be in the restoration and elevation of Individ- 
ual Character ; for by that alone can a nation be saved ; 
and if character be irrecoverably lost; then indeed there 
will be nothing left worth saving. ^ 



CHAPTER II. 

HOME POWER. 

"So build we up the being that we are, 
Thus deeply drinking in the soul of things, 
We shall be wise perforce." — Wordsworth. 

" The mill-streams that turn, the clappers of the world arise in soli- 
taiy places." — Helps. 

" In the course of a conversation with Madame Campan, Napoleon 
Bonaparte remarked : ' The old systems of instruction seem to be 
worth nothing ; what is yet wanting in order that the people should be 
properly educated?' 'Mothers,' replied Madame Campan. The 
reply struck the emperor. 'Yes!' said he, 'here is a system of edu- 
cation in one word. Be it your care, then, to train up mothers who 
shall know how to educate their children.'" — Aime Martin. 

" Lord! with what care hast Thou begirt us round I 
Parents first season us. Then school-masters 
Deliver us to laws. They send us bound 
To rules of reason." — George Herbert. 

HOME is the first and most important school of char- 
acter. It is there that every human being receives 
his best moral training, or his worst ; for it is there that 
he imbibes those principles of conduct which endure 
through manhood, and cease only with life. 

It is a common saying that "Manners make the 
man;" and there is a second, that "Mind makes the 
man ;" but truer than either is a third, that " Home 
makes the man." For the home-training includes not 
only manners and mind, but character. It is mainly in 
the home that the heart is opened, the habits are form- 
ed, the intellect is awakened, and character moulded for 
good or for evil. 

From that source, be it pure or impure, issue the 
principles and maxims that govern society. Law itself 



CHAP, II.] Home and Civilization. 43 

is but the reflex of homes. The tiniest bits of opinion 
sown in the minds of children in private life afterwards 
issue forth to the world, and become its public opinion ; > 
for nations are gathered out of nurseries, and they who ) 
hold the leading-strings of children may even exercise a , 
greater power than those who wield the reins of govern- 
ment.* 

It is in the order of nature that domestic life should 
be preparatory to social, and that the mind and char- 
acter should first be formed in the home. There the 
individuals who afterwards form society are dealt with 
in detail, and fashioned one by one. From the family 
they enter life, and advance from boyhood to citizen- 
ship. Thus the home may be regarded as the most n^ 
influential school of civilization. For, after all, civiliza- 
tion mainly resolves itself into a question of individual 
training; and according as the respective members of 
society are well or ill trained in youth, so will the com- 
munity which they constitute be more or less human- 
ized and civilized. 

The training of any man, even the wisest, can not fail 
to be powerfully influenced by the moral surroundings 
of his early years. He comes into the world helpless, 
and absolutely dependent upon those about him for nur- 
ture and culture. From the very first breath that he 
draws, his education begins. When a mother once 
asked a clergyman when she should begin the educa- 
tion of her child, then four years old, he replied : "Mad- 
am, if you have not begun already, you have lost those 
four years. From the first smile that gleams upon an 
infant's cheek, your opportunity begins." 

But even in this case the education had already be- 

* "Civic virtues, unless they have their origin and consecration in 
private and domestic virtues, are but the virtues of the theatre. He 
who has not a loving heart for his child can not pretend to have any 
true love for humanitv." — Jules Simon's Le Devoir. 



44 Domestic Training. [chap. ii. 

gun ; for the child learns by simple imitation, without 
effort, almost through the pores of the skin. "A fig- 
tree looking on a fig-tree becometh fruitful," says the 
Arabian proverb. And so it is with children; their 
first great instructor is example. 

However apparently trivial the influences which con- 
tribute to form the character of the child, they endure 
through life. The child's character is the nucleus of 
the man's ; all after-education is but superposition ; the 
form of the crystal remains the same. Thus the saying 
of the poet holds true in a large degree, " The child is 
father of the man ;" or, as Milton puts it, " The child- 
hood shows the man, as morning shows the day." 
Those impulses to conduct which last the longest and 
are rooted the deepest, always have their origin near our 
birth. It is then that the germs of virtues or vices, of 
feelings or sentiments, are first implanted which deter- 
mine the character for life. 

The child is, as it were, laid at the gate of a new 
world, and opens his eyes npon things all of which are 
full of novelty and wonderment. At first it is enough 
for him to gaze ; but by-and-by he begins to see, to ob- 
serve, to compare, to learn, to store up impressions and 
ideas; and under wise guidance the progress which he 
makes is really wonderful. Lord Brougham has ob- 
served that between the ages of eighteen and thirty 
months, a child learns more of the material world, of his 
own powers, of the nature of other bodies, and even of 
his own mind and other minds, than he acquires in all 
the rest of his life. The knowledge which a child ac- 
cumulates, and the ideas generated in his mind, during 
this period are so important, that if we could imagine 
them to be afterwards obliterated, all the learning of a 
senior wrangler at Cambridge, or a first-classman at Ox- 
ford, would be as nothing to it, and would literally not 
enable its object to prolong his existence for a week. 



CHAP. II.] Home Influences. 45 

It is in childhood that the mind is most open to im- 
pressions, and ready to be kindled by the first spark 
that falls into it. Ideas are then caught quickly and 
live lastingly. Thus Scott is said to have received his 
first bent towards ballad literature from his mother's 
and grandmother's recitations in his hearing long be- 
fore he himself had learned to read. Childhood is like 
a mirror, which reflects in after-life the images first pre- 
sented to it. The first thing continues forever w^ith the 
child. The first joy, the first sorrow, the first success, 
the first failure, the first achievement, the first misad- 
venture, paint the foreground of his life. 

All this while, too, the training of the character is in 
progress — of the temper, the will, and the habits — on 
^vhich so much of the happiness of human beings in 
after-life depends. Although man is endowed with a 
certain self-acting, self-helping power of contributing to 
his own development, independent of surrounding cir- 
cumstances, and of reacting upon the life around him, 
the bias given to his moral character in early life is of 
immense importance. Place even the highest-minded 
philosopher in the midst of daily discomfort, immorali- 
ty, and vileness, and he wull insensibly gravitate towards 
brutality. How much more susceptible is the impres- 
sionable and helpless child amidst such surroundings ! 
It is not possible to rear a kindly nature, sensitive to 
evil, pure in mind and heart, amidst coarseness, discom- 
fort, and impurity. 

Thus homes, which are the nurseries of children who 
grow up into men and women, will be good or bad ac- 
cording to the power that governs them. Where the 
spirit of love and duty pervades the home — where head 
and heart bear rule wisely there — where the daily life is 
honest and virtuous — where the government is sensible, 
kind, and loving, then may we expect from such a home 
an issue of healthy, nseful, and happy beings, capable, as 



46 Surroundings of Children. [CHAP. ii. 

they gain the requisite strength, of following the foot- 
steps of their parents, of walking uprightly, governing 
themselves wisely, and contributing to the welfare of 
those about them. 

On the other hand, if surrounded by ignorance, coarse- 
ness, and selfishness, they will unconsciously assume the 
same character, and grow up to adult years rude, uncul- 
tivated, and all the more dangerous to society if placed 
amidst the manifold temptations of what is called civil- 
ized life. " Give your child to be educated by a slave," 
said an ancient Greek, " and, instead of one slave, you 
will then have two." 

The child can not help imitating what he sees. Ev- 
ery thing is to him a model — of manner, of gesture, of 
speech, of habit, of character. " For the child," says 
Richter, " the most important era of life is that of child- 
hood, when he begins to color and mould himself by 
companionship with others. Every new educator ef- 
fects less than his predecessor ; until at last, if we re- 
gard all life as an educational institution, a circumnavi- 
gator of the world is less influenced by all the nations 
he has seen than by his nurse."* Models are, therefore, 
of every importance in moulding the nature of the child ; 
and if we would have fine characters, we must necessa- 
rily present before them fine models. Kow, the model 
most constantly before every child's eye is the mother. 

One good mother,, said George Herbert, is worth a 
hundred school-masters. In the home she is " loadstone 
to all hearts, and loadstar to all eyes." Imitation of her 
is constant — imitation, which Bacon likens to a " globe 
of precepts." But example is far more than precept. 
It is instruction in action. It is teaching without 
words, often exemplifying more than tongue can teach. 
In the face of bad example, the best of precepts are of 

* " Levana ; or, The Doctrine of Education." 



CHAP. II.] Power of Example. 47 

but little avail. The example is followed, not the pre- 
cepts. Indeed, precept at variance with practice is 
worse than useless, inasmuch as it only serves to teach 
the most cowardly of vices — hypocrisy. Even children 
are judges of consistency, and the lessons of the parent 
who says one thing and does the opposite, are quickly 
seen through. The teaching of the friar was not w^orth 
much who preached the virtue of honesty with a stolen 
goose in his sleeve. 

By imitation of acts, the character becomes slowly 
and imperceptibly, but at length decidedly formed. 
The several acts may seem in themselves trivial ; but so 
are the continuous acts of daily life. Like snow-flakes, 
they fall unperceived ; each flake added to the pile pro- 
duces no sensible change, and yet the accumulation of 
snow-flakes makes the avalanche. So do repeated acts, 
one following another, at length become consolidated 
in habit, determine the action of the human being for 
good or for evil, and, in a word, form the character. 

It is because the mother, far more than the father, in- 
fluences the action and conduct of the child, that her 
good example is of so much greater importance in the 
home. It is easy to understand how this should be so. 
The home is the woman's domain — her kingdom, where 
she exercises entire control. Her power over the little 
subjects she rules there is absolute. They look up to 
her for every thing. She is the example and model 
constantly before their eyes, whom they unconsciously 
observe and imitate. 

Cowley, speaking of the influence of early example, 
and ideas early implanted in the mind, compares them 
to letters cut in the bark of a young tree, which grow 
and widen with age. The impressions then made, how- 
soever slight they may seem, are never effaced. The 
ideas then implanted in the mind are like seeds dropped 
into the ground, which lie there and germinate for a 



48 Maternal Love. [chap. ii. 

time, afterwards springing up in acts and thoughts and 
habits. Thus the mother lives again in her children. 
They unconsciously mould themselves after her manner, 
her speech, her conduct, and her method of life. Her 
habits become theirs; and her character is visibly re- 
peated in them. 

This maternal love is the visible providence of our 
race. Its influence is constant and universal. It begins 
with the education of the human being at the outstart 
of life, and is prolonged by virtue of the powerful in- 
fluence which every good mother exercises over her 
children through life. When launched into the world, 
each to take part in its labors, anxieties, and trials, they 
still turn to their mother for consolation, if not for coun- 
sel, in their time of trouble and difiiculty. The pure 
and good thoughts she has implanted in their minds 
when children continue to grow uj) into good acts long 
after she is dead ; and when there is nothing but a mem- 
ory of her left, her children rise up and call her blessed. 

It is not saying too much to aver that the happiness 
or misery, the enlightenment or ignorance, the civiliza- 
tion or barbarism of the world, depends in a very high 
degree upon the exercise of woman's power within her 
special kingdom of home. Indeed, Emerson says, broad- 
ly and truly, that " a sufiicient measure of civilization is 
the influence of good women." Posterity may be said 
to lie before us in the person of the child in the mother's 
lap. What that child will eventually become, mainly de- 
pends upon the training and example which he has re- 
ceived from his first and most influential educator. 

Woman, above all other educators, educates humanly. 
Man is the brain, but woman is the heart of humanity; 
he its judgment, she its feeling; he its strength, she its 
grace, ornament, and solace. Even the understanding 
of the best woman seems to w^ork mainly through her 
affections. And thus, though man may direct the intel- 



CHxVP. II.] Boyhood of St. Augustine. 49 

lect, woman cultivates the feelings, which mainly deter- 
mine the character. While he fills the memory, she oc- 
cupies the heart. She makes us love what he can only 
make us believe, and it is chiefly through her that we 
are enabled to arrive at virtue. 

The respective influences of the father and the mother 
on the training and development of character are re- 
markably illustrated in the life of St. Augustine. While 
Augustine's father, a poor freeman of Thagaste, proud 
of his son's abilities, endeavored to furnish his mind 
with the highest learning of the schools, and was extolled 
by his neighbors for the sacrifices he made with that 
object "beyond the ability of his means" — his mother, 
Monica, on the other hand, sought to lead her son's mind 
in the direction of the highest good, and with pious care 
counselled him, entreated him, advised him to chastity, 
and, amidst much anguish and tribulation, because of 
his wicked life, never ceased to pray for him xmtil her 
prayers were heard and answered. Thus her love at 
last triumphed, and the patience and goodness of the 
mother were rewarded, not only by the conversion of 
her gifted son, but also of her husband. Later in life, 
and after her husband's death, Monica, drawn by her af- 
fection, followed her son to Milan, to watch over him; 
and there she died, when he was in his thirty -third year. 
But it was in the earlier period of his life that her ex- 
ample and instruction made the deepest impression upon 
his mind, and determined his future character. 

There are many similar instances of early impressions 
mad^ upon a child's mind, springing up into good acts 
late in life, after an intervening period of selfishness 
and vice. Parents may do all that they can to develop 
an upright and virtuous character in their children, and 
apparently in vahi. It seems like bread cast upon the 
waters and lost. And yet sometimes it happens that 
long after the parents have gone to their rest — it may 

C 



50 Early Impressioiis. [CHAP. Ii. 

be twenty years or more — the good precept, the good 
example set before their sons and daughters in child- 
hood, at length springs np and bears fruit. 

One of the most remarkable of such instances was 
that of the Reverend John Newton, of Olney, tiie friend 
of Cowper, the poet. It was long subsequent to the 
death of both his parents, and after leading a vicious 
life as a youth and as a seaman, that he became sudden- 
ly awakened to a sense of his depravity; and then it 
was that the lessons which his mother had given him 
when a child sprang up vividly in his memory. Her 
voice came to him as it were from the dead, and led 
him gently back to virtue and goodness. 

Another instance is that of John Randolph, the Amer- 
ican statesman, who once said : " I should have been an 
atheist if it had not been for one recollection — and that 
was the memory of the time when my departed mother 
used to take my little hand in hers, and cause me on my 
knees to say, * Our Father who art in heaven !' " 

But such instances must, on the w^hole, be regarded as 
exceptional. As the character is biased in early life, so 
it generally remains, gradually assuming its permanent 
form as manhood is reached. "Live as long as you 
may," said South ey, " the first twenty years are the long- 
est half of your life," and they are by far the most preg- 
nant in consequences. When the worn-out slanderer 
and voluptuary, Dr. Wolcot, lay on his death-bed, one of 
his friends asked if he could do any thing to gratify 
him. " Yes," said the dying man, eagerly, " give me 
back my youth." Give him but that, and he would re- 
pent — he would reform. But it was all too late ! His 
life had become bound and inthralled by the chains of 
habit.* 

* Speaking of the force of habit, St. Augustine says, in his "Con- 
fessions :" " My will the enemy held, and thence had made a chain 
for me, and bound me. For of a froward will was a lust made ; and 



CHAP. II.] Home the best School. 61 

■ m 

Gretiy, the musical composer, thought so highly of 
the imiDortauce of woman as an educator of character, 
that he described a good mother as "Nature's chef- 
di'ceumeP And he was right : for good mothers, far 
more than fathers, tend to the perpetual renovation of 
mankind, creating as they do the moral atmosphere of 
the home, which is the nutriment of man's moral being, 
as the physical atmosphere is of his corporeal frame. 
By good temper, suavity, and kindness, directed by in- 
telligence, woman surrounds the in-dwellcrs w^ith a per- 
vading atmosphere of cheerfulness, contentment, and 
peace, suitable for the growth of the purest as of the 
manliest natures. 

The poorest dwelling, presided over by a virtuous, 
thrifty, cheerful, and cleanly woman, may thus be the 
abode of comfort, virtue, and happiness ; it may be the 
scene of every ennobling relation in family life ; it may 
be endeared to a man by many delightful associations ; 
furnishing a sanctuary for the heart, a refuge from the 
storms of life, a sweet resting-place after labor, a conso- 
lation in misfortune, a pride in prosperity, and a joy at 
all times. 

The good home is thus the best of schools, not only 
in youth but in age. There young and old best learn 
cheerfulness, patience, self-control, and the spirit of serv- 
ice and of duty. Izaak Walton, speaking of George 
Herbert's mother, says she governed her family with 
judicious care, not rigidly nor sourly, "but with such a 
sweetness and compliance with the recreations and 
pleasures of youth, as did incline them to spend much 
of their time in her company, which was to her great 
content." 

The home is the true school of courtesy, of which 

a lust served became custom ; and custom not resisted became neces- 
sity. By which Hnks, as it were, joined together (whence I called it 
a chain) a hard bondage held me inthralled." 



62 The best Nursery of Character. [CHAP. ii. 

»f 

woman is always the best practical instructor. " With- 
out woman," says the Proven9al proverb, "men were 
but ill-licked cubs." Philanthropy radiates from the 
home as from, a centre. "To love the little platoon we 
belong to in society," said Burke, " is the germ of all 
public affections." The wisest and the best have not 
been ashamed to own it to be their greatest joy and 
happiness to sit " behind the heads of children " in the 
inviolable circle of home. A life of purity and duty 
there is not the least effectual preparative for a life of 
public work and duty ; and the man who loves his home 
will not the less fondly love and serve his country. 

But while homes, which are the nurseries of charac- 
ter, may be the best of schools, they may also be the 
worst. Between childhood and manhood how incalcu- 
lable is the mischief which ignorance in the home has 
the power to cause ! Between the drawing of the first 
breath and the last, how vast is the moral suffering and 
disease occasioned by incompetent mothers and nurses ! 
Commit a child to the care of a worthless, ignorant wom- 
an, and no culture in after-life will remedy the evil you 
have done. Let the mother be idle, vicious, and a slat- 
tern ; let her home be pervaded by cavilling, petulance, 
and discontent, and it will become a dwelling of misery 
— a place to fly from, rather than to fly to ; and the 
children whose misfortune it is to be brought up there 
will be morally dwarfed and deformed — the cause of 
misery to themselves as well as to others. 

Napoleon Bonaparte was accustomed to say that " the 
future good or bad conduct of a child depended entire- 
ly on the mother." He himself attributed his rise in 
life in a great measure to the training of his will, his 
energy, and his self-control, by his mother at home. 
" Kobody had any command over him," says one of his 
biographers, " except his mother, who found means, by 
a mixture of tenderness, severity, and justice, to make 



CHAP. II.] The Mother^s Influence. 63 

him love, respect, and obey her ; from her he learnt the 
virtue of obedience." 

A curious illustration of the dependence of the char- 
acter of children on that of the mother incidentally oc- 
curs in one of Mr. Tufnell's school-reports. The truth, 
he observes, is so vv^ell established that it has even been 
made subservient to mercantile calculation. " I was in- 
formed," he says, " in a large factory, where many chil- 
dren were employed, that the managers before they en- 
gaged a boy always inquired into the mother's character, 
and if that was satisfactory they were tolerably certain 
that her children would conduct themselves creditably. 
JVo attention ic as paid to the character of the father. ^''^^ 

It has also been observed that in cases where the fa- 
ther has turned out badly — become a drunkard, and 
"gone to the dogs" — provided the mother is jDrudent 
and sensible, the family will be kept together, and the 
children probably make their way honorably in life; 
whereas in cases of the opposite sort, where the mother 
turns out badly, no matter how well-conducted the fa- 
ther may be, the instances of after-success in life on the 
part of the children are comparatively rare. 

The greater part of the influence exercised by women 
on the formation of character necessarily remains un- 
known. They accomplish their best works in the quiet 
seclusion of the home and the family, by sustained effort 
and patient perseverance in the path of duty. Their 
greatest triumphs, because private and domestic, are 
rarely recorded ; and it is not often, even in the biog- 
raphies of distinguished men, that we hear of the share 
which their mothers have had in the formation of their 
character, and in giving them a bias towards goodness. 
Yet are they not on that account without their reward. 
The influence they have exercised, though unrecorded, 

* Mr. Tufnell, in " Eeports of Inspectors of Parochial School Un- 
ions in England and Wales " (1850). 



5i Power of Good Women. [chap. ii. 

lives after them, and goes on propagating itself in con- 
sequences forever. 

We do not often hear of great women, as we do of 
great men. It is of good women that we mostly hear ; 
and it is probable that, by determining the character of 
men and women for good, they are doing even greater 
work than if they were to jjaint great pictures, write 
great books, or compose great operas. "It is quite 
true," said Joseph de Maistre, " that women have pro- 
duced no chefs-cPoeuvre. They have written no ' Iliad,' 
nor * Jerusalem Delivered,' nor ' Hamlet,' nor * Pha3dre,' 
nor ' Paradise Lost,' nor ' Tartuffe ;' they have designed 
no Church of St. Peter's, composed no ' Messiah,' carved 
C no ^Apollo Belvedere,' painted no * Last Judgment ;' they 
have invented neither algebra, nor telescopes, nor steam- 
engines ; but they have done something far greater and 
better than all this, for it is at their knees that upright 
and virtuous men and women have been trained — the 
most excellent productions in the world." 

De Maistre, in his letters and writings, speaks of his 
own mother with immense love and reverence. Her 
noble character made all other women venerable in his 
eyes. He described her as his " sublime mother " — " an 
angel to whom God had lent a body for a brief season." 
To her he attributed the bent of his character, and all 
his bias towards good; and when he had grown to ma- 
ture years, while acting as ambassador at the Court of 
St. Petersburg, he referred to her noble example and 
precepts as the ruling influence in his life. 

One of the most charming features in the character of 
Samuel Johnson, notwithstanding his rough and shaggy 
exterior, was the tenderness with which he invariably 
spoke of his mother* — a woman of strong understand- 

* See the letters (January 13th, IGth, 18th, 20th, and 23d, 1759) 
written by Johnson to his mother when she was ninety, and he him- 
self was in liis fiftieth year.— Croker's BosweU, 8vo ed., pp. 113, 114-. 



CHAP. II.] Johnson and Washington. 55 

ing, who firmly implanted in his mind, as he himself ac- 
knowledges, his first impressions of religion. He was 
accustomed, even in the time of his greatest difficulties, 
to contribute largely, out of his slender means, to her 
comfort; and one of his last acts of filial duty was to 
write " Rasselas " for the purpose of paying her little 
debts and defraying her funeral charges. 

George Washington was only eleven years of age — 
the eldest of five children — when his father died, leaving 
his mother a widow. She w^as a woman of rare excel- 
lence — full of resources, a good woman of business, an 
excellent manager, and possessed of much strength of 
character. She had her children to educate and bring 
up, a large household to govern, and extensive estates 
to manage, all of which she accomplished with complete 
success. Her good sense, assiduity, tenderness, indus- 
try, and vigilance, enabled her to overcome every obsta- 
cle ; and, as the richest reward of her solicitude and toil, 
'she had the happiness to see all her children come for- 
ward with a fair promise into life, filling the spheres al- 
lotted to them in a manner equally honorable to them- 
selves, and to the parent who had been the only guide 
of their principles, conduct, and habits."^' 

The biographer of Cromwell says little about the 
Protector's father, but dwells upon the character of his 
mother, whom he describes as a woman of rare vigor 
and decision of purpose : "A woman," he says, " pos- 
sessed of the glorious faculty of self-help when other 
assistance failed her ; ready for the demands of fortune 
in its extremest adverse turn; of spirit and energy 
equal to her mildness and patience ; who, with the la- 
bor of her own hands, gave dowries to five daughters 
sufficient to marry them into families as honorable but 
more wealthy than their own ; whose single pride was 

* Jared Spaiks's "Life of Washington." 



56 Cromiuell and Wellington. [chap. ii. 

honesty, and whose passion was love ; who preserved in 
the gorgeous palace at Whitehall the simple tastes that 
distinguished her in the old brewery at Huntingdon ; 
and whose only care, amidst all her splendor, was for 
the safety of her son in his dangerous eminence."* 

We have spoken of the raother of ISTapoleon Bona- 
parte as a woman of great force of character, l^ot less 
so was the mother of the Duke of Wellington, whom 
her son strikingly resembled in features, person, and 
character ; while his father was principally distinguish- 
ed as a musical composer and performer.f But, strange 
to say, Wellington's mother mistook him for a dunce ; 
and, for some reason or other, he was not such a favor- 
ite as her other children, until his great deeds in after- 
life constrained her to be proud of him. 

The I^apiers were blessed in both parents, but es- 
pecially in their m. other, Lady Sarah Lennox, who ear- 
ly sought to inspire her sons' minds with elevating 
thoughts, admiration of noble deeds, and a chivalrous 
spirit, which became embodied in their lives, and con- 
tinued to sustain them, until death, in the path of duty 
and of honor. 

Among statesmen, lawyers, and divines, we find mark- 
ed mention made of the mothers of Lord Chancellors 
Bacon, Erskine, and Brougham — all women of great 
ability, and, in the case of the first, of great learning ; 
as well as of the mothers of Canning, Curran, and Pres- 
ident Adams — of Herbert, Paley, and Wesley. Lord 
Brougham speaks in terms almost approaching reverence 
of his grandmother, the sister of Professor Robertson, 
as having been mainly instrumental in instilling into 
his mind a strong desire for information, and the first 
principles of that persevering energy in the pursuit of 

* Forster's "Eminent British Statesmen" (Cabinet Cyclopaedia), 
vi.,8. 

t Tlie Eiirl of Mornington, composer of " Here in cool grot," etc. 



CHAP. II.] Canning and Curran. 57 

every kind of knowledge which formed his prominent 
characteristic throughout life. 

Canning's mother was an Irishwoman of great natural 
abihty, for whom her gifted son entertained the greatest 
love and respect to the close of his career. She was a 
woman of no ordinary intellectual power. " Indeed," 
says Canning's biographer, " were we not otherwise as- 
sured of the fact from direct sources, it would be im- 
possible to contemplate his profound and touching de- 
votion to her without being led to conclude that the 
object of such unchanging attachment must have been 
possessed of rare and commanding qualities. She was 
esteemed by the circle in which she lived as a woman 
of great mental energy. Her conversation was animated 
and vigorous, and marked by a distinct originality of 
manner and a choice of topics fresh and striking, and 
out of the commonplace routine. To persons Avho 
were but slightly acquainted with her, the energy of 
her manner had even something of the air of eccen- 
tricit}^"* 

Curran speaks w^ith great affection of his mother, as 
a woman of strong original understanding, to whose 
wise counsel, consistent piety, and lessons of honorable 
ambition, which she diligently enforced on the minds 
of her children, he himself principally attributed his 
success in life. "The only inheritance," he used to 
say, " that I could boast of from my poor father was 
the very scanty one of an unattractive face and person, 
like his own ; and if the world has ever attributed to 
me something more valuable than face or person, or 
than earthly w^ealth, it was that another and a dearer 
parent gave her child a portion from the treasure of her 
mind."f 

When ex-President Adams was present at the ex- 

* Robert Bell's "Life of Canning," p. 37. 
t " Life of Curran," by his son, p. 4. 
C2 



58 Mother of the Wesley s. [chap. 1 1. 

amination of a girls' school at Boston, he was presented 
by the pupils with an address which deeply affected 
him ; and in acknowledging it, he took the opportuni- 
ty of referring to the lasting influence which womanly 
training and association had exercised upon his own 
life and character. "As a child," he said, "I enjoyed 
perhaps the greatest of blessings that can be bestowed 
on man — that of a mother who was anxious and capa- 
ble to form the characters of her children rightly. 
From her I derived whatever instruction (religious 
especially, and moral) has pervaded a long life — I will 
not say perfectly, or as it ought to be ; but I will say, 
because it is only justice to the memory of her I revere, 
that in the course of that life, whatever imperfection 
there has been, or deviation from what she taught me, 
the fault is mine, and not hers." 

The Wesleys w^ere peculiarly linked to their parents 
by natural piety, though the mother, rather than the 
father, influenced their minds and developed their char- 
acters. The father w^as a man of strong will, but oc- 
casionally harsh and tyrannical in his dealings with his 
family;* while the mother, with much strength of un- 
derstanding and ardent love of truth, was gentle, per- 
suasive, affectionate, and simple. She was the teacher 
and cheerful companion of her children, who gradually 
became moulded by her example. It was through the 
bias given by her to her sons' minds in religious mat- 
ters that they acquired the tendency which, even in 
early years, drew to them the name of Methodists. In 

* The father of the Wesleys had even determined at one time to 
abandon his wife because her conscience forbade her to assent to liis 
prayers for the then reigning monarch, and he was only saved from 
the consequences of his rash resolve by the accidental death of Wil- 
liam III. He displayed the same overbearing disposition in dealing 
with his children ; forcing his daughter Mehetabel to marr}-, against 
lier will, a man whom she did not love, and who proved entirely un- 
worthv of her. 



CHAP. II.] Mothers of Poets. 59 

a letter to her son, Samuel Wesley, when a scholar at 
Westmmster in 1 709, she said: "I would advise you as 
rmuch as possible to throw your business into a certain 
^^method, by which means you will learn to improve ev- 
ery precious moment, and find an unspeakable facility 
in the performance of your respective duties." This 
" method " she went on to describe, exhorting her son 
" in all things to act upon principle ;" and the society 
which the brothers John and Charles afterwards found- 
ed at Oxford is supposed to have been in a great meas- 
ure the result of her exhortations. 

In the case of poets, literary men, and artists, the in- 
fluence of the mother's feeling and taste has doubtless 
had great effect in directing the genius of their sons ; 
and we find this especially illustrated in the lives of 
Gray, Thomson, Scott, Southey, Bulwer, Schiller, and 
Goethe. Gray inherited, almost complete, his kind and 
loving nature from his mother, while his father was 
harsh and unamiable. Gray was, in fact, a feminine man 
— shy, reserved, and wanting in energy — but thorough- 
ly irreproachable in life and character. The poet's 
mother maintained the family after her unworthy hus- 
band had deserted her ; and, at her death, Gray placed 
on her grave, in Stoke Pogis, an epitaph describing her 
as " the careful, tender mother of many children, one of 
•whom alone had the misfortune to survive her." The 
poet himself was, at his own desire, interred beside her 
worshipped grave. 

Goethe, like Schiller, owed the bias of his mind and 
character to his mother, who was a woman of extraor- 
dinary gifts.* She was full of joyous, flowing mother- 
wit, and possessed in a high degree the art of stimula- 

* Goethe himself says : 

"Vom Vater hab' ich die Stattir, 
Des Lebens erustes Fuhren ; 
Von Mutterchen die Frohnatur 
Und Lust zu fabuliren." 



60 Ary Scheffer's Mother. [CHAP. ii. 

ling young and active minds, instructing them in the 
science of life out of the treasures of her abundant ex- 
perience. After a lengthened interview with her, an 
enthusiastic traveller said, " Now do I understand how 
Goethe has become the man he is." Goethe himself 
affectionately cherished her memory. " She was wor- 
thy of life !" he once said of her; and when he visited 
Frankfort, he sought out every individual who had been 
kind to his mother, and thanked them all. 

It was Ary Scheffer's mother — whose beautiful fea- 
tures the painter so loved to reproduce in his pictures 
of Beatrice, St. Monica, and others of his works — that 
encouraged his study of art, and by great self-denial 
provided him with the means of pursuing it. While 
living at Dordrecht, in Holland, she first sent him to 
Lille to study, and afterwards to Paris ; and her letters 
to him, while absent, were always full of sound moth- 
erly advice, and affectionate womanly sympathy. "If 
you could but see me," she wrote on one occasion, 
" kissing your picture, then, after a while, taking it up 
again, and, with a tear in my eye, calling you ' my be- 
loved son,' you would comprehend what it costs me to 
use sometimes the stern language of authoritj^ and to 
occasion to you moments of pain. ..... Work dili- 
gently — be, above all, modest and humble; and when 
you find yourself excelling others, then compare what 
you have done with Nature itself, or with the * ideal ' of 
your own mind, and you will be secured, by the con- 
trast which will be apparent, against the effects of pride 
and presumption." 

Long years after, when Ary Scheffer was himself a 
grandfather, he remembered with affection the advice 
of his mother, and repeated it to his children. And 
thus the vital power of good example lives on from gen- 
eration to generation, keeping the world ever fresh and 
young. Writing to his daughter,. Madame Marjolin, 



CHAP. II.] Miclielefs Tribute to his Mother. 61 

in 1846, his departed mother's advice recurred to him, 
and he said: "The word must — fix it well in your mem- 
ory, dear child ; your grandmother seldom had it out 
of hers. The truth is, that through our lives nothing 
brings any good fruit except what is earned by either 
the work of the hands or by the exertion of one's self- 
denial. Sacrifices must, in short, be ever going on if 
we would obtain any comfort or happiness. Now that 
I am no longer young, I declare that few passages in 
my life afford me so much satisfaction as those in 
which I made sacrifices or denied myself enjoyments. 
*Das Entsagen' (the forbidden) is the motto of the 
wise man. Self-denial is the quality of which Jesus 
Christ set us the example."* 

The French histoi'ian Michelet makes the following 
touching reference to his mother in the Preface to one 
of his most popular books, the subject of much imbit- 
tered controversy at the time at which it appeared : 

" While writing all this, I have had in my mind a 
woman whose strong and serious mind would not have 
failed to support me in these contentions. I lost her 
thirty years ago (I was a child then) — nevertheless, 
ever living in my memory, she follows me from age to 
age. 

" She suffered with me in my poverty, and was not 
allowed to share my better fortune. When young, I 
made her sad, and now I can not console her. I know 
not even where her bones are : I was too poor then to 
buy earth to bury her ! 

"And yet I owe her much. I feel deeply that I am 
the son of woman. Every instant, in my ideas and 
words (not to mention my features and gestures), I find 
again my mother in myself. It is my mother's blood 
which gives me the sympathy I feel for by-gone ages, 

* Mrs. Grote's " Life of Ary SchefFer," p. 154. 



62 Byron and Foote. [chap. ii. 

and the tender remembrance of all those who are now 
no more. 

" What return, then, could I, who am myself advan- 
cing towards old age, make her for the many things I 
owe her ? One, for which she would have thanked me 
— this protest in favor of women and mothers."* 

But while a mother may greatly influence the poetic 
or artistic mind of her son for good, she may also in- 
fluence it for evil. Thus the characteristics of Lord 
Byron — the waywardness of his impulses, his defiance 
of restraint, the bitterness of his hate, and the precipi- 
tancy of his resentments — were traceable in no small de- 
gree to the adverse influences exercised upon his mind 
from his birth by his capricious, violent, and headstrong 
mother. She even taunted her son with his personal 
deformity ; and it was no unfrequent occurrence, in the 
•violent quarrels which occurred between them, for her 
to take up the poker or tongs and hurl them after him 
as he fled from her presence.f It was this unnatural 
treatment that gave a morbid turn to Byron's after-life ; 
and, care-worn, unhappy, great, and yet weak, as he was, 
he carried about with him the mother's poison which 
he had sucked in his infancy. Hence he exclaims, in 
his " Childe Harold :" 

" Yet must I think less wildly : I have thought 
Too long and darkly, till my brain became, 

In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, 
A whirling gulf of phantasy and flame ; 

And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame, 
My springs of life ivere poisoned.'" 

In like manner, though in a different way, the char- 
acter of Mrs. Foote, the actor's mother, was curiously 
repeated in the life of her joyous, jovial-hearted son. 
Though she had been heiress to a large fortune, she 

* Michelet, "On Priests, Women, and Families." 
t Mrs. Byron is said to have died in a fit of passion, brought on by 
reading her upholsterer's bill. 

t 



CHAP. II.] Lamarime's Mother. 63 

soon spent it all, and was at length imprisoned for debt. 
In this condition she wrote to Sam, who had been al- 
lowing her a hundred a year out of the proceeds of his 
acting: "Dear Sam, I am in prison for debt; come 
and assist your loving mother, E. Foote." To which 
her son characteristically replied — "Dear mother, so am 
I; which prevents his duty being paid to his loving 
mother by her affectionate sou, Sam Foote." 

A foolish mother may also spoil a gifted son by im- 
buing his mind with unsound sentiments. Thus Lamar- 
tine's mother is said to have trained him in altogether 
erroneous ideas of life, in the school of Rousseau and 
Bernardin de St.-Pierre, by which his sentimentalism, 
sufficiently strong by nature, was exaggerated instead 
of repressed ;* and he became the victim of tears, affec- 
tation, and improvidence all his life long. It almost sa- 
vors of the ridiculous to find Lamartine, in his " Confi- 
dences," representing himself as a "statue of Adoles- 
cence raised as a model for young men."f As he was 
his mother's spoilt child, so he was the spoilt child of 
his country to the end, which was bitter and sad. 
Sainte-Beuve says of him : " He was the continual ob- 
ject of the richest gifts, which he had not the power of 
managing, scattering and w^asting them — all excepting 
the gift of words, which seemed inexhaustible, and on 
which he continued to play to the end as on an enchant- 
ed flute."J: 

We have spoken of the mother of Washington as an 
excellent woman of business; and to possess such a 
quality as capacity for business is not only compatible 
with true womanliness, but is in a measure essential to 
the comfort and well-being of every properly-governed 
family. Habits of business do not relate to trade mere- 
ly, but apply to all the practical affairs of life — to every 

* Sainte-Beuve, '" Causeries du Lundi," i,, 23. f Ibid., i., 22. 
t Ibid., i., 23. 



64 Women and Business Habits. [chap. ii. 

thing that has to be arranged, to be organized, to be 
provided for, to be done. And in all those respects the 
management of a family and of a household is as much 
a matter of business as the management of a shop or of 
a counting-house. It requires method, accuracy, organ- 
ization, industry, economy, discipline, tact, knowledge, 
and capacity for adapting means to ends. All this is of 
the essence of business; and hence business habits are 
as necessary to be cultivated by women who would suc- 
ceed in the affairs of home — in other words, who would 
make home happy — as by men in the affairs of trade, of 
commerce, or of manufacture. 

The idea has, however, heretofore prevailed, that 
w^omen have no concern with such matters, and that 
business habits and qualifications relate to men ' only. 
Take, for instance, the knowledge of figures. Mr. 
Bright has said of boys, " Teach a boy arithmetic thor- 
oughly, and he is a made man." And why ?— Because 
it teaches him method, accuracy, value, proportions, rela- 
tions. But how many girls are taught arithmetic well ? 
— Very few indeed. And what is the consequence? 
When the girl becomes a wife, if she knows nothing of 
figures, and is innocent of addition and multiplication, 
she can keep no record of income and expenditure, and 
there will probably be a succession of mistakes commit- 
ted which may be prolific in domestic contention. The 
woman, not being up to her business — that is, the man- 
agement of her domestic affairs in conformity wHth the 
simple principles of arithmetic — will, through sheer ig- 
norance, be apt to commit extravagances, though unin- 
tentional, which may be most injurious to her family 
peace and comfort. 

Method, which is the soul of business, is also of essen- 
tial importance in the home. Work can only be got 
through by method. Muddle flies before it, and hug- 
ger-mugger becomes a thing unknown. Method de- 



CHAP. II.] Business Qualities requisite. 65 

mands punctuality, another eminently business quality. 
The unpunctual woman, like the unpunctual man, occa- 
sions dislike, because she consumes and wastes time, 
and provokes the reflection that we are not of sufficient 
importance to make her more prompt. To the business 
man, time is money ; but to the business woman, meth- 
od is more — it is peace, comfort, and domestic prosperity. 

Prudence is another important business quality in 
women, as in men. Prudence is practical wisdom, and 
comes of the cultivated judgment. It has reference in all' 
things to fitness, to propriety ; judging wisely of the right 
thing to be done, and the right way of doing it. It calcu- 
lates the means, order, time, and method of doing. Pru- 
dence learns from experience, quickened by knowledge. 

For these, among other reasons, habits of business are 
necessary to be cultivated by all women, in order to 
their being efficient helpers in the world's daily life and 
work. Furthermore, to direct the power of the home 
aright, women, as the nurses, trainers, and educators of 
children, need all the help and strength that mental cul- 
ture can give them. 

Mere instinctive love is not sufficient. Instinct, which 
preserves the lower creatures, needs no training; but 
human intelligence, which is in constant request in a 
family, needs to be educated. The physical health of 
the rising generation is intrusted to woman by Provi- 
dence; and it is in the physical nature that the moral 
and mental nature lies enshrined. It is only by acting 
in accordance with the natural laws, which, before she 
can follow, woman must needs understand, that the bless- 
ings of health of body, and health of mind and morals, 
can be secured at home. Without a knowledge of such 
laws, the mother's love too often finds its recompense 
only in a child's coffin.* 

* That about one-third of all the children bom in this country die un- 
der five years of age, can only be attributable to ignorance of the nat- 



66 Womaii's Intelligence. [ciiAP. ii. 

It is a mere truism to say that the intellect with 
which woman as well as man is endowed has been giv- 
en for use and exercise, and not " to fust in her unused." 
Such endowments are never conferred without a pur- 
pose. The Creator may be lavish in his gifts, but he 
is never wasteful. 

"Woman was not meant to be either an unthinking 
drudge, or the merely pretty ornament of man's leisure. 
She exists for herself as well as for others ; and the se- 
rious and responsible duties she is called upon to per- 
form in life require the cultivated head as well as the 
sympathizing heart. Her highest mission is not to be 
fulfilled by the mastery of fleeting accomplishments, on 
which so much useful time is now wasted ; for, though 
accomplishments may enhance the charms of youth and 
beauty, of themselves sufficiently charming, they will be 
found of very little use in the affairs of real life. 

The highest praise which the ancient Romans could 
express of a noble matron was that she sat at home and 
span— " i^omi^m mansit, lanam fecity In our own 
time it has been said that chemistry enough to keep the 
pot boiling, and geography enough to know the differ- 
ent rooms in her house, was science enough for any 
woman; while Byron, whose sympathies for woman 
were of a very iaiperfect kind, professed that he would 
limit her library to a Bible and a cookery-book. But 
this view of woman's character and culture is as ab- 
surdly narrow and unintelligent, on the one hand, as the 
opposite view, now so much in vogue, is extravagant 
and unnatural on the other — that woman ought to be 
educated so as to be as much as possible the equal of 
man ; undistinguishable from him except in sex ; equal 

iiral laws, ignorance of the human constitution, and ignorance of the 
uses of pure air, pure water, and of the art of preparing and adminis- 
tering wholesome food. There is no such mortality among the lower 
animals. 



CHAP. II.] Education of Women. 67 

to him in rights and votes; and his competitor in all 
that makes life a fierce and selfish struggle for place 
and power and money. 

Speaking generally, the training and discipline that 
are most suitable for the one sex in early life are also 
the most suitable for the other; and the education and 
culture that fill the mind of the man will prove equally 
wholesome for the woman. Indeed, all the arguments 
which have yet been advanced in favor of the higher 
education of men plead equally strongly in favor of the 
higher education of women. In all the departments of 
home, intelligence will add to w^oman's usefulness and 
efiiciency. It will give her thought and forethought, 
enable her to anticipate and provide for the contingen- 
cies of life, suggest improved methods of management, 
and give her strength in every way. In disciplined 
mental power she will find a stronger and safer protec- 
tion against deception and imposture than in mere inno- 
cent and unsuspecting ignorance ; in moral and religious 
culture she will secure sources of influence more pow- 
erful and enduring than in physical attractions; and in 
due self-reliance and self-dependence she will discover 
the truest sources of domestic comfort and happiness. 

But while the mind and character of women ought to 
be cultivated with a view to their own well-being, they 
ought not the less to be educated liberally with a view 
to the happiness of others. Men themselves can not be 
sound in mind or morals if women be the reverse ; and 
if, as we hold to be the case, the moral condition of a 
people mainly depends upon the education of the home, 
then the education of women is to be regqj-ded as a 
matter of national importance. Xot only does the mor- 
al character but the mental strength of man find its best 
^safeguard and support in the moral purity and men- 
tal cultivation of woman ; but the more completely the 
powers of both are developed, the more harmonious and 



68 Nations and Mothers. [chap. ii. 

well-ordered will society be — the more safe and certain 
its elevation and advancement. 

When, about fifty years since, the first ISTapoleon said 
that the great want of France was mothers, he meant, 
in other words, that the French people needed the edu- 
cation of homes, presided over by good, virtuous, intelli- 
gent women. Indeed, the first French Revolution pre- 
sented one of the most striking illustrations of the so- 
cial mischiefs resulting from a neglect of the purifying 
influence of women. When that great national out- 
break occurred, society was impenetrated with vice and 
profligacy. Morals, religion, virtue, were swamped by 
sensualism. The character of woman had become de- 
praved. Conjugal fidelity was disregarded; maternity 
was held in reproach ; family and home were alike cor- 
rupted. Domestic purity no longer bound society to- 
gether. France was motherless; the children broke 
loose; and the Revolution burst forth, "amidst the yells 
and the fierce violence of women.'"^ 



* Beaumarchais's "Figaro," which was received with siicli enthu- 
siasm in France shortly before the outbreak of the Eevohition, may 
be regarded as a typical play ; it represented the average moralit}^ of 
the upper as well as the lower classes with respect to the relations be- 
tween the sexes. " Label men how you please," says Herbert Spen- 
cer, ' ' with titles of ' upper ' and ' middle ' and ' lower, ' you can not 
prevent them from being units of the same society, acted upon by the 
same spirit of the age, moulded after the same type of character. 
The mechanical law, that action and reaction are equal, has its moral 
analogue. The deed of one man to another tends ultimately to pro- 
duce a like effect upon both, be the deed good or bad. Do but put 
them in relationship, and no division into castes, no differences of 
wealth, can prevent men from assimilating Tlie same influ- 
ences which rapidly adapt the individual to his society, insure, though 
by a slowet process, the general uniformity of a national character. 
.... And so long as the assimilating influences productive of it 
continue at work, it is folly to suppose any one grade of a community 
can be morally diiferent from the rest. In whichever rank you see 
corruption, be assured it equally pervades all ranks — be assured it is 
the symptom of a bad social diathesis. While the virus of depravity 
exists in one part of the body-politic, no other part can remain 
healthy." — Social Statics, chap, xx., § 7. 



CHAP. II.] True Sphere of Womeyi. 69 

But the terrible lesson was disregarded, and again 
and again France has grievously suffered from the want 
of that discipline, obedience, self-control, and self-respect 
which can only be truly learnt at home. It is said that 
the Third Napoleon attributed the recent powerlessness 
of France, which left her helpless and bleeding at the 
feet of her conquerors, to the frivolity and lack of prin- 
ciple of the people, as well as to their love of pleasure — 
which, however, it must be confessed, he himself did not 
a little to foster. It would thus seem that the disci- 
pline which France still needs to learn, if she w^onld be 
good and great, is that indicated by the First ISTapoleon 
— home education by good mothers. 

The influence of woman is the same everywhere. 
Her condition influences the morals, manners, and char- 
acter of the people in all countries. Where she is de- 
based, society is debased ; where she is morally pure 
and enlightened, society will be proportionately elevated. 

Hence, to instruct woman is to instruct man ; to ele- 
vate her character is to raise his own; to enlarge her 
mental freedom is to extend and secure that of the 
whole community. For nations are but the outcomes 
of homes, and peoples of mothers. 

But while it is certain that the character of a nation 
will be elevated by the enlightenment and refinement of 
woman, it is much more than doubtful whether any ad- 
vantage is to be derived from her entering into compe- 
tition with man in the rough work of business and poli- 
tics. "Women can no more do men's special work in 
the world than men can do women's. And wherever 
woman has been withdrawn from her home and family 
to enter upon other work, the result has been socially 
disastrous. Indeed, the efforts of some of the best phi- 
lanthropists have of late years been devoted to with- 
drawing women from toiling alongside of men in coal- 
pits, factories, nail-shops, and brick-yards. 



70 Women and Work. [chap. ii. 

It is still not uncommon in the ISTorth for the husbands 
to be idle at home, while the mothers and daughters are 
working in the factory ; the result being, in many cases, 
an entire subversion of family order, of domestic disci- 
pline, and of home rule.* And for many years past, in 
Paris, that state of things has been reached which some 
women desire to effect among ourselves. The women 
there mainly attend to business — serving the boutique, 
or presiding at the comptoir — while the men lounge 
about the Boulevards. But the result has only been 
liomelessness, degeneracy, and family and social decay. 

ISTor is there any reason to believe that the elevation 
and improvement of women are to be secured by invest- 
ing them with political power. There are, however, in 
these days, many believers in the potentiality of " votes,"f 

* Some twenty-eight years since, the author wrote and published the 
following passage, not without practical knowledge of the subject ; and 
notwithstanding the great amelioration in the lot of factory-workers, 
effected mainly through the noble efforts of Lord Shaftesbury, the de- 
scription is still to a large extent true : 

'*The factory system, however much it may hare added to the 
wealth of the country, has had a most deleterious efiect on the domes- 
tic condition of the people. It has invaded the sanctuary of home, 
and broken up family and social ties. It has taken the wife from the 
husband, and the children from their parents. Especially has its tend- 
ency been to lower the character of woman. The performance of do- 
mestic duties is her proper office — the management of her house- 
hold, the rearing of her family, the economizing of the family means, 
the supplying of the family wants. But the factory takes her from 
all these duties. Homes become no longer homes. Children grow 
up uneducated and neglected. The finer affections become blunted. 
Woman is no more the gentle wife, companion, and friend of man, 
but his fellow-laborer and fellow-drudge. She is exposed to influ- 
ences which too often efface that modesty of thought and conduct 
which is one of the best safeguards of virtue. Without judgment or 
sound principles to guide them, factory-girls early acquire the feeling 
of independence. Eeady to throw off the constraint imposed on them 
by their parents, they leave their homes, and speedily become initiated 
in the vices of their associates. The atmosphere, physical as well as 
moral, in which they live stimulates their animal appetites ; the influ- 
ence of bad example becomes contagious among them ; and mischief 
is propagated far and wide." — The Union (January, 1843). 

t A French satirist, pointing to the repeated plebiscites and perpetu- 



CHAP.il] '■'' Enfranchisement''^ of Women. 71 

who anticipate some indefinite good from the " enfran- 
chisement" of women. It is not necessary here to en- 
ter upon the discussion of this question. But it may be 
sufficient to state that the power which women do not 
possess pohtically is far raore^than compensated by that 
which they exercise in private Ufe — by their training in 
the home those who, whether as men or as women, do 
all the manly as well as womanly work of the world. 
The Radical Bentham has said that man, even if he 
would, can not keep power from woman ; for that she 
already governs the world " with the whole power of a 
despot,"* though the i^ower that she mainly governs by 
is love. And to form the character of the whole human 
race, is certainly a power far greater than that which 
women could ever hope to exercise as voters for mem- 
bers of Parliament, or even as law-makers. 

There is, however, one special department of woman's 
work demanding the earnest attention of all true female 
reformers, though it is one which has hitherto been un- 
accountably neglected. We mean the better economiz- 
ing and preparation of human food, the waste of which 
at present, for want of the most ordinary culinary 
knowledge, is little short of scandalous. If that man 
is to be regarded as a benefactor of his species who 
makes two stalks of corn to grow where only one grew 
before, not less is she to be regarded as a public bene- 

al voting of late years, and to the growing want of faith in any thing 
but votes, said, in 1870, that we seemed to be rapidly approaching the 
period when the only prayer of man and woman would be, " Give us 
this day our daily vote !" 

* " Of primeval and necessary and absolute superiority, the relation 
of the mother to the child is far more complete, though less seldom 

quoted as an example, than that of father and son By Sir 

Robert Filmer, the supposed necessary as well as absolute power of 
the father over his children was taken as the foundation and origin, 
and thence justifying cause, of the power of the monarch in every po- 
litical state. With more propriety he might have stated the absolute 
dominion of a woman as the only legitimate form of government." — 
Deontology /n., 1^1. 



72 Women and Food. [chap. ii. 

factor who economizes and turns to the best practical 
account the food-products of human skill and labor. 
The improved use of even our existing supply would be 
equivalent to an immediate extension of the cultivable 
acreage of our country — not to speak of the increase in 
health, economy, and domestic comfort. Were our fe- 
male reformers only to turn their energies in this di- 
rection with effect, they would earn the gratitude of all 
households, and be esteemed as among the greatest of 
all practical philanthropists. 




CHAPTER III. 

COMPAXIOXSHIP AXD EXAIMPLE. 

"Keep good company, and you shall be of the number." — Geokgb 
Herbert. 

" For mine own part, 
I shall be glad to learn of noble men." — Shakspeake. 

"Examples preach to th' eye — care, then, mine says, 
■' Not how you end, but how you spend your days." 

Hexry ]\Iarttn, ^^ Last Thoughts." 

" Dis moi qui t'admire, et je dirai qui tu es." — Sainte-Beuve. 

" He that means to be a good limner will be sure to draw after the 
most excellent copies, and guide every stroke of his pencil by the better 
pattern that lays before him ; so he that desires that the table of his 
life may be fail* will be careful to propose the best examples, and will 
never be content till he equals or excels them." — Owen Feltha]!!. 

THE natural education of the Home is prolonged far 
into life — indeed, it never entirely ceases. But the 
time arrives, in the progress of years, when the home 
ceases to exercise an exclusive influence on the forma- 
tion of character; and it is succeeded by the more ar- 
tificial education of the school, and the companionship 
of friends and comrades, which continue to mould the 
character by the powerful influence of example. 

Men, young and old — but the young more than the 
old — can not help imitating those with whom they as- 
sociate. It was a saying of George Herbert's mother, 
intended for the guidance of her sons, " that as our 
bodies take a nourishment suitable to the meat on 
which we feed, so do our souls as insensibly take in 
virtue or vice by the example or conversation of good 
or bad company." 

Indeed, it is impossible that association with those 
D 



74 Influence of Com;panionship. [chap. hi. 

about us should not produce a powerful influence in 
the formation of character. For men are by nature 
imitators, and all persons are more or less impressed 
by the speech, the manners, the gait, the gestures, and 
the very habits of thinking of their companions. " Is 
example nothing?" said Burke. "It is every thing. 
Example is the school of mankind, and they will learn 
at no other." Burke's grand motto, which he wrote for 
the tablet of the Marquis of Rockingham, is worth re- 
peating ; it was, " Remember — resemble — persevere." 

Imitation is for the most part so unconscious that its 
effects are almost unheeded, but its influence is not the 
less permanent on that account. It is only when an im- 
pressive nature is placed in contact with an impression- 
able one that the alteration in the character becomes 
recognizable. Yet even the weakest natures exercise 
some influence upon those about them. The approxi- 
mation of feeling, thought, and habit is constant, and 
the action of example unceasing. 

Emerson has observed that even old couples, or per- 
sons who have been house-mates for a course of years, 
grow gradually like each other ; so that, if they were to 
^ live long enough, we should scarcely be able to know 
them apart. But if this be true of the old, how much 
more true is it of the young, whose plastic natures are so 
much more soft and impressionable, and ready to take the 
stamp of the life and conversation of those about them ! 

" There has been," observed Sir Charles Bell in one 
of his letters, " a good deal said about education, but 
they appear to me to put out of sight exmnple^ which 
is all-in-all. My best education was the example set me 
by my brothers. There was, in all the members of the 
family, a reliance on self, a true independence, and by 
imitation I obtained it."* 

* " Letters of Sir Charles Bell," p. 10. 



CHAP. III.] The Force of Imitation. 75 

It is in the nature of things that the circumstances 
which contribute to form the character should exercise 
their principal influence during the period of growth. 
As years advance, example and imitation become cus- 
tom, and gradually consolidate into habit, which is of so 
much potency that, almost before w^e know it, we have 
in a measure yielded up to it our personal freedom. 

It is related of Plato, that on one occasion he reproved 
a boy for playing at some foolish game. " Thou reprov- 
est me," said the boy, for a very little thing." " But 
custom," replied Plato, "is not a little thing." Bad 
custom, consolidated into habit, is such a tyrant that 
men sometimes cling to vices even while they curse 
them. They have become the slaves of habits w^hose 
power they are impotent to resist. Hence Locke has 
said that to create and maintain that vigor of mind 
which is able to contest the empire of habit may be re- 
garded as one of the chief ends of moral discipline. 

Though much of the education of character by ex- 
ample is spontaneous and unconscious, the young need 
not necessarily be the passive followers or imitators of 
those about them. Their own conduct, far more than 
the conduct of their companions, tends to fix the pur- 
pose and form the principles of their life. Each pos- 
sesses in himself a power of will and of free activity, 
which, if courageously exercised, will enable him to 
make his own individual selection of friends and asso- 
ciates. It is only through weakness of purpose that 
young people, as well as old, become the slaves of their 
inclinations, or give themselves up to a servile imitation 
of others. 

It is a common saying that men are known by the 
company they keep. The sober do not naturally asso- 
ciate with the drunken, the refined with the coarse, the 
decent with the dissolute. To associate with depraved 
persons argues a low taste and vicious tendencies, and 



^6 ComjyanionsM]) of the Good. [chap. iii. 

to frequent their society leads to inevitable degradation 
of character. " The conversation of such ^^ersons," says 
Seneca, "is very injurious; for even if it does no imme- 
diate harm, it leaves its seeds in the mind, and follows 
us when we have gone from the speakers — a plague 
sure to spring up in future resurrection." . 

If young men are wisely influenced and directed, and 
conscientiously exert their own free energies, they will 
seek the society of those better than themselves, and 
strive to imitate their example. In companionship 
with the good, growing natures will always find their 
best nourishment; while companionship with the bad 
will only be fruitful in mischief. There are persons 
whom to know is- to love, honor, and admire; and 
others whom to know is to shun and despise — " dont le 
savoir n'est que heterie^^ as says Rabelais when speak- 
ing of the education of Gargantua. Live with persons 
of elevated characters, and you will feel lifted and light- 
ed up in them : " Live with wolves," says the Spanish 
proverb, " and you will learn to howl." 

Intercourse with even commonplace, selfish persons, 
may prove most injurious, by inducing a dry, dull, re- 
served, and selfish condition of mind, more or less inim- 
ical to true manliness and breadth of character. The 
mind soon learns to run .in small grooves, the heart 
grows narrow and contracted, and the moral nature be- 
comes weak, irresolute, and accommodating, which is fa- 
tal to all generous ambition or real excellence. 

On the other hand, association with persons wiser, 
better, and more experienced than ourselves, is always 
more or less inspiring and invigorating. They enhance 
our own knowledge of life. We correct our estimates 
by theirs, and become partners in their wisdom. We 
enlarge our field of observation through their eyes, 
profit by their experience, and learn not only from what 
they have enjoyed, but — which is still more instructive 



CHAP. III.] The Uses of Association. 77 

— from what they have suffered. If they are stronger 
than ourselves, we become participators in their strength. 
Hence companionship with the wise and energetic never 
fails to have a most valuable influence on the formation 
of character — increasing our resources, strengthening 
our resolves, elevating our aims, and enabling us to ex- 
erc^e greater dexterity and ability in our own affairs, 
as well as more effective helpfuhiess of others. 

"I have often deeply regretted in myself," says Mrs. 
Schimmelpenninck, " the great loss I have experienced 
from the solitude of my early habits. We need no 
worse companion than our unregenerate selves, and, by 
living alone, a person not only becomes wholly ignorant 
of the means of helping his felk)w-creatures, but is with- 
out the perception of those wants which most need 
help. Association with others, when not on so large a 
scale as to make hours of retirement impossible, may be 
considered as furnishing to an individual a rich multi- 
plied experience ; and sympathy so drawn forth, though, 
unlike charity, it begins abroad, never fails to bring 
back rich treasures home. Association with others is 
useful also in strengthening the character, and in en- 
abling us, while we never lose sight of our main object, 
to thread our way wisely and well.'"^ 

An entirely new direction may be given to the life of 
a young man by a happy suggestion, a timely hint, or 
the kindly advice of an honest friend. Thus the life 
of Henry Martyn, the Indian missionary, seems to have 
been singularly influenced by a friendship which he 
formed, when a boy, at Truro Grammar School. Mar- 
tyn himself was of feeble frame, and of a delicate nerv- 
ous temperament. Wanting in animal spirits, he took 
but little pleasure in school sj^orts; and being of a 
somewhat petulant temper, the bigger boys took pleas- 

* "Autobiography of Mary Anne Schimmelpenninck, " p. 179. 



78 Boyhood of Henry Mar iijn. [chap. III. 

ure in provoking him, and some of them in bullying 
him. One of the bigger boys, however, conceiving a 
friendship for Martyn, took him nnder his protection, 
stood between him and his persecutors, and not only 
fought his battles for him, but helped him Avith his les- 
sons. Though Martyn was rather a backward pupil, his 
father was desirous that he should- have the advantage 
of a college education, and at the age of about fifteen 
he sent him to Oxford to try for a Corpus scholarship, 
in which he failed. Pie remained for two years more 
at the Truro Grammar School, and then went to Cam- 
bridge, where he was entered at St.- John's College. 
Whom should he find already settled there as a student 
but his old champion of the Truro Grammar School? 
Their friendship was renewed; and the elder student 
from that time forward acted as the Mentor of the 
younger one. Martyn was fitful in his studies, excita- 
ble and petulant, and occasionally subject to fits of al- 
most uncontrollable rage. His big friend, on the other 
hand, was a steady, patient, hard-working fellow ; and 
he never ceased to watch over, to guide, and to advise 
for good his irritable fellow-student. He kept Martyn 
out of the way of evil company, advised him to work 
hard, "not for the praise of men, but for the glory of 
God ;" and so successfully assisted him in his studies, 
that at the following Christmas examination he Avas the 
first of his year. Yet Martyn's kind friend and Mentor 
never achieved any distinction himself; he passed away 
into obscurity, leading, most probably, a useful though 
an unknown career; his greatest wish in life having 
been to shape the character of his friend, to inspire his 
soul with the love of truth, and to prepare him for the 
noble work, on w^hich he shortly after entered, of an 
Indian, missionary. 

A somewhat similar incident is said to have occurred 
in the college career of Dr. Paley. When a student at 



CHAP, 111.] Dr. Paleijs College Life. 79 

Christ's College, Cambridge, he was distinguished for 
his shrewdness as well as his clumsiness, and he was at 
the same time the favorite and the butt of his com- 
panions. Though his natural abilities Avere great, he 
was thoughtless, idle, and a spendthrift; and at the 
commencement of his third year he had made compara- 
tively little progress. After one of his usual night-dis- 
sipations, a friend stood by his bedside on the following 
morning. "Paley," said he, "I have not been able to 
sleep for thinking about you. I have been thinking 
what a fool you are ! Zhave the means of dissipation, 
and can afford to be idle : you are poor, and can not af- 
ford it. I could do nothing, probably, even were I to 
try : you are capable of doing any thing. I have lain 
awake all night thinking about your folly, and I have 
now come solemnly to warn you. Indeed, if you persist 
in your indolence, and go on in this way, I must re- 
nounce your society altogether." 

It is said that Paley was so powerfully affected by 
this admonition, that from that moment he became an 
altered man. He formed an entirely new plan of life, 
and diligently persevered in it. He became one of the 
most industrious of students. One by one he distanced 
his competitors, and at the end of the year he came out 
senior wrangler. What he afterwards accomplished as 
an author and a divine is sufficiently well known. 

No one recognized more fully the influence of per- 
sonal example on the young than did Dr. Arnold. It 
was the great lever with which he worked in striving to 
elevate the character of his school. He made it his 
principal object, first to put a right spirit into the lead- 
ing boys by attracting their good and noble feelings; 
and then to make them instrumental in propagating the 
same spirit among the rest, by the influence of imita- 
tion, example, and admiration. He endeavored to make 
all feel that they were fellow-workers with himself, and 



80 Dr. Arnold an Exeraplar. [chap. hi. 

sharers with him in the moral responsibility for the good 
government of the place. One of the first effects of this 
high-minded system of management was, that it inspired 
the boys with strength and self-respect. They felt that 
they were trusted. There were, of course, mauvais snjets 
at Rugby, as there are at all schools ; and these it was 
the master's duty to watch, to prevent their bad example 
contaminating others. " On one occasion he said to an as- 
sistant-master : " Do you see those two boys walking to- 
gether ? I never saw them together before. You should 
make an especial point of observing the company they 
keep : nothing so tells the changes in a boy's character." 

Dr. Arnold's own example was an inspiration, as is 
that of every great teacher. In his i^resence, young 
men learned to respect themselves, and out of the root 
of self-respect there grew up the manly virtues. "His 
very presence," says his biographer, " seemed to create 
a new spring of health and vigor within them, and to 
give to life an interest and elevation which remained 
with them long after they had left him ; and dwelt so 
habitually in their thoughts as a living image, that, 
when death had taken him away, the bond appeared to 
be still unbroken, and the sense of separation almost lost 
in the still deeper sense of a life and a union indestruc- 
tible."* And thus it was that Dr. Arnold trained a host 
of manly and noble characters, who spread the influence 
of his example in all parts of the world. 

So also was it said of Dugald Stewart, that he 
breathed the love of virtue into whole generations of 
pupils. " To me," says the late Lord Cockburn, " his 
lectures were like the opening of the heavens. I felt 
that I had a soul. His noble views, unfolded in glori- 
ous sentences, elevated me into a higher world 

They changed my whole nature."! 

* Dean Stanley's "Life of Dr. Arnold," i., 151 (ed. 1858). 
t Lord Cockburn's " Memorials," pp. 25, 2G. 



CHAP. III.] Power of Goodness. 81 

Character tells in all conditions of life. The man 
of good character in a workshop will give the tone to 
his fellows, and elevate their entire aspirations. Thus 
Frankhn, while a workman in London, is said to have 
reformed the manners of an entire workshop. So the 
man of bad character and debased energy will uncon- 
sciously lower and degrade his fellows. Captain John 
Brown — the "marching-on Brown" — once said to Em- 
erson, that " for a settler in a new country, one good be- 
lieving man is worth a hundred, nay, worth a thousand 
men without character." His example is so contagious, 
that all other men are directly and beneficially influenced 
by him, and he insensibly elevates and lifts them up to 
his own standard of energetic activity. 

Communication with the good is invariably produc- 
tive of good. The good character is diffusive in his 
influence. " I was common clay till roses were planted 
in me," says some aromatic earth in the Eastern fable. 
Like begets like, and good makes good. "It is aston- 
ishing," says Canon Moseley, " how much good good- 
ness makes. Nothing that is good is alone, nor any 
thing bad; it makes others good or others bad — and 
that other, and so on : like a stone thrown into a pond, 
which makes circles that make other Avider ones, and 
then others, till the last reaches the shore. . . . Almost 
all the good -that is in the world has, I suppose, thus 
come down to us traditionally from remote times, and 
often unknown centres of good.""^ So Mr. Ruskin says, 
"That which is born of evil begets evil; and that which 
is born of valor and honor teaches valor and honor." 

Hence it is that the life of every man is a daily incul- 
cation of good or bad example to others. The life of a 
good man is at the same time the most eloquent lesson 
of virtue and the most severe reproof of vice. Dr. 

* From a letter of Canon IMoseley, read at a Memorial Meeting held 
shortly after the death of the late Lord Herbert, of JLea. 

D2 



82 High Standard of Life. [chap. hi. 

Hooker described the life of a pious clergyman of his 
acquaintance as " visible rhetoric," convincing even the 
most godless of the beauty of goodness. And so the 
good George Herbert said, on entering upon the duties 
of his parish: "Above all, I will be sure to live well, 
because the virtuous life af a clergyman is the most 
powerful eloquence, to persuade all who see it to rever- 
ence and love, and at least to desire to live like him. 
And this I will do," he added, " because I know we live 
in an age that hath more need of good examples than 
precepts." It was a fine saying of the same good 
priest, when reproached with doing an act of kindness 
to a poor man considered beneath the dignity of his of- 
fice — that the thought of such actions " would prove 
music to him at midnight."* Izaak Walton speaks of a 
letter written by George Herbert to Bishop Andrewes 
about a holy life, which the latter " put into his bosom," 
and, after showing it to his scholars, " did always return 
it to the place where he first lodged it, and continued it 
so, near his heart, till the last day of his life." 

Great is the power of goodness to charm and to com- 
mand. The man inspired by it is the true king of men, 
drawing all hearts after him. When General ISTicholson 
lay wounded on his death-bed before Delhi, he dictated 
this last message to his equally noble and gallant friend, 
Sir Herbert Edwardes : "Tell him," said he, "I should 
have been a better man if I had continued to live with 
him, and our heavy public duties had not prevented my 
seeing more of him privately. I was always the better 
for a residence with him and his wife, however short. 
Give my love to them both !" 

There are men in whose presence we feel as if we 
breathed a spiritual ozone, refreshing and invigorating, 
like inhaling mountain air, or enjoying a bath of sun- 

* Izaak Walton's ' ' Life of George Herbert, " 



CHAP. III.] The Inspiration of Goodness. 83 

shine. The power of Sir Thomas More's gentle nature 
was so great that it subdued the bad at the same time 
that it inspired the good. Lord Brooke said of his de- 
ceased friend, Sir Philip Sidney, that " his wit and un- 
derstanding beat upon his heart, to make himself and 
others, not in word or opinion, but in life and action, 
good and great." 

The very sight of a great and good man is often an 
inspiration to the young, who can not help admiring and 
loving the gentle, the brave, the truthful, the magnani- 
mous ! Chateaubriand saw Washington only once, but 
it inspired him for life. After describing the interview, ' 
he says : '^ Washington sank into the tomb before any 
little celebrity had attached to my name. I passed be- 
fore him as the most unknown of beings. He was in 
all his glory — I in the depth of my obscurity. My 
name probably dwelt not a whole day in his mem- 
ory. Happy, however, was I that his looks were 
cast upon me. I have felt warmed for it all the rest ^ 
of my life. There is a virtue even in the looks of a great 
man." 

When Xiebuhr died, his friend, Frederick Perthes, 
said of him : " What a contemporary ! The terror of 
all bad and base men, the stay of all the sterling and 
honest, the friend and helper of youth." Perthes said 
on another occasion : " It does a wrestling man good 
to be constantly surrounded by tried wrestlers ; evil 
thoughts are put to flight when the eye falls on the 
portrait of one in whose living presence one would have 
blushed to own them." A Catholic money-lender, when 
about to cheat, was wont to draw a veil over the picture 
of his favorite saint. So Hazlitt has said of the portrait 
of a beautiful female, that it seemed as if an unhand- 
some action would be impossible in its presence. "It 
does one good to look upon his manly, honest face," said 
a poor German woman, pointing ^to a portrait of the 



84 Admiration oftlie Good. [chap. hi. 

great Reformer hung n2:)on the wall of her humble 
dwelling. 

Even the portrait of a noble or a good man, hung up 
in a room, is companionship after a sort. It gives us a 
closer personal interest in him. Looking at the features, 
we feel as if we knew him better, and v/ere more near- 
ly related to him. It is a link that connects us with a 
higher and better nature than our own. And though 
we may be far from reaching the standard of our hero, 
v>'e are, to a certain extent, sustained and fortified by his 
depicted presence constantly before us. 

Fox was proud to acknowledge how much he owed 
to the example and conversation of Burke. On one oc- 
casion he said of him, that " if he was to put all the po- 
litical information he had gained from books, all that he 
had learned from science, or that the knowledge of the 
world and its affairs taught him, into one scale, and the 
improvement he had derived from Mr. Burke's conver- 
sation and instruction into the other, the latter would 
preponderate." 

Professor Tyndall sjDeaks of Faraday's friendship as 
" energy and inspiration." After spending an evening 
with him, he wrote : " His work excites admiration, but 
contact with him warms and elevates the heart. Here, 
surely, is a strong man. I love strength, but let me not 
forget the example of its union with modesty, tender- 
ness,, and sweetness, in the character of Faraday." 

Even the gentlest natures are powerful to influence 
the character of others for good. Thus Wordsworth 
seems to have been especially impressed by the charac- 
ter of his sister Dorothy, who exercised upon his mind 
and heart a lasting influence. He describes her as the 
blessing of his boyhood as well as of his manhood. 
Though two years younger than himself, her tenderness 
and sweetness contributed greatly to mould his nature, 
and open his mind to the influences of poetry : 



CHAP. iii.J Influence of Gentle Natures. 85 

"She gave me eyes, she gave me ears, 
And humble cares, and delicate fears ; 
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears. 
And love, and thought, and joy." 

Thus the gentlest natures are enabled, by the power of 
affection and intelligence, to mould the characters of 
men destined to influence and elevate their race through 
all time. 

Sir William I^apier attributed the early direction of 
his character first to the impress made upon it by his 
mother, when a boy, and afterwards to the noble exam- 
ple of his commander, Sir John Moore, when a man. 
Moore early detected the qualities of the young oflicer ; 
and he was one of those to whom the general addressed 
the encouragement, "Well done, my majors!" at Co- 
runna. Writing home to his mother, and describing the 
little court by which Moore was surrounded, he wrote, 
" Where shall we find such a king ?" It was to his per- 
sonal affection for his cliief that the world is mainly in- 
debted to Sir William Xapier for his great book, " The 
History of the Peninsular War." But he was stimu- 
lated to write the book by the advice of another friend, 
the late Lord Langdale, while one day w^alking with him 
across the fields on which Belgravia is now built. "It 
was Lord Langdale," he says, " who first kindled the fire 
within me." And of Sir William N'apier himself, his 
biographer truly says, that " no thinking person could 
ever come in contact with him, without being strongly 
impressed w^ith the genius of the man." 

The career of the late Dr. Marshall Hall was a life- 
long illustration of the influence of character in forming 
character. Many eminent men still living trace their 
success in life to his suggestions and assistance, without 
which several valuable lines of study and investigation 
might not have been entered on, at least at so early a 
period. He would say to young men about him, " Take 



86 Energy evokes Energy. [chap. iii. 

up a subject and f)ursue it well, and you can not fail to 
succeed." And often he would throw out a new idea 
to a young friend, saying, " I make you a present of it ; 
there is fortune in it, if you pursue it with energy." 

Energy of character has always a power to evoke en- 
ergy in others. It acts through sympathy, one of the 
most influential of human agencies. The zealous, ener- 
getic man unconsciously carries others along with him. 
His example is contagious, and compels imitation. He 
exercises a sort of electric power, which sends a thrill 
through every fibre, flows into the nature of those 
about him, and makes them give out sparks of fire. 

Dr. Arnold's biographer, speaking of the power of 
this kind exercised by him over young men, says : " It 
was not so much an enthusiastic admiration for true 
genius, or learning, or eloquence, which stirred within 
them ; it was a sympathetic thrill, caught from a spirit 
that was earnestly at work in the world — whose work 
was healthy, sustained, and constantly carried forward 
in the fear of God — a work that was founded on a deep 
sense of its duty and its value."* 

Such a power, exercised by men of genius, evokes 
courage, enthusiasm, and devotion. It is this intense 
admiration for individuals — such as one can not con- 
ceive entertained for a multitude — which has in all 
times produced heroes and martyrs. It is thus that 
the mastery of character makes itself felt. It acts by 
inspiration, quickening and vivifying the natures sub- 
ject to its influence. 

Great minds are rich in radiating force, not only ex- 
erting power, but communicating and even creating it. 
Thus Dante raised and drew after him a host of great 
spirits — Petrarch, Boccacio, Tasso, and many more. 
From him Milton learnt to bear the stings of evil 

* " Stanley's "Life and Letters of Dr. Arnold," i., 83. 



CHAP. III.] Admire nohly. 87 

tongues and the contumely of evil days ; and long 
years after, Byron, thinking of Dante under the pine- 
trees of Ravenna, was incited to attune his harp to lofti- 
er strains than he had ever attempted before. Dante 
inspired the greatest painters of Italy — Giotto, Orcagna, 
Michael Angelo, and Raphael. So Ariosto and Titian 
mutually inspired one another, and lighted up each oth- 
er's glory. 

Great and good men draw others after them, exciting 
the spontaneous admiration of mankind. This admira- 
tion of noble character elevates the mind, and tends to 
redeem it from the bondage of self, one of the greatest 
stumbling-blocks to moral improvement. The recollec- 
tion of men who have signalized themselves by great 
thoughts or great deeds seems as if to create for the 
time a purer atmosphere around us : and we feel as if 
our aims and purposes were unconsciously elevated. 

"Tell me whom you admire," said Sainte-Beuve, 
" and I will tell you what you are, at least as regards 
your talents, tastes, and character." Do you admire 
mean men? — your own nature is mean. Do you ad- 
mire rich men ? — you are of the earth, earthy. Do you 
admire men of title? — you are a toad-eater, or a tuft- 
hunter.* Do you admire honest, brave, and manly 
men ? — you are yourself of an honest, brave, and manly 
spirit. 

It is in the season of youth, while the character is 
forming, that the impulse to admire is the greatest. 
As we advance in life we crystallize into habit; and 

* Philip de Comines gives a curious illustration of the subsement, 
though enforced, imitation of Philip, duke of Burgundy, by his court- 
iers. When that prince fell ill, and had his head shaved, he ordered 
that all his nobles, five hundred in number, should in like manner 
shave their heads ; and one of them, Pien-e de Hagenbach, to prove 
his devotion, no sooner caught sight of an unshaven nobleman than 
he forthwith had him seized and carried off to the barber! — Philip 
DE CojiixES (Bohn's ed.), p. 243. 



88 Johnson and Boswell. [chap. hi. 

^'^ Nil admirarV too often becomes our motto. It is 
well to encourage the admiration of great characters 
while the nature is plastic and oj^en to impressions ; for 
if the good are not admired — as young men will have 
their heroes of some sort — most probably the great bad 
may be taken by them for models. Hence it always re- 
joiced Dr. Arnold to hear his pupils expressing admira- 
tion of great deeds, or full of enthusiasm for persons or 
even scenery. " I believe,". said he, " that ''Nil admira- 
ri ' is the devil's favorite text ; and he could not choose 
a better to introduce his pupils into the more esoteric 
parts of his doctrine. And therefore I have always 
looked upon a man infected with the disorder of anti- 
romance as one who has lost the finest part of his na- 
ture, and his best protection against every thing low 
and foolish."''^ 

It was a fine trait in the character of Prince Albert 
that he was always so ready to express generous admi- 
ration of the good deeds of others. " He had the great- 
est delight," says the ablest delineator of his character, 
" in any body else saying a fine saying, or doing a great 
deed. He would rejoice over it, and talk about it for 
days; and whether it was a thing nobly said or done 
by a little child, or by a veteran statesman, it gave him 
equal pleasure. He delighted in humanity doing well 
on any occasion and in any manner."f 

" No quality," said Dr. Johnson, " will get a man 
more friends than a sincere admiration of the qualities 
of others. It indicates generosity of nature, frankness, 
cordiality, and cheerful recognition of merit." It was 
to the sincere — it might almost be said the reverential — 
admiration of Johnson by Boswell, that we owe one of 
the best biographies ever written. One is disposed to 

* "Life,"i.,34i. 

t Introduction to "The Principal Sneeches and Addresses of H. R. 
H. the Prince Consort," p. 33. 



CHAP. III.] Young Menh Heroes. 89 

think that there must have been some genuine good 
Quahties in Boswell to have been attracted by such a 
man as Johnson, and to have kept faithful to his wor- 
ship in spite of rebuffs and snubbings innumerable. 
Macaulay speaks of Boswell as an altogether contempt- 
ible person — as a coxcomb and a bore — weak, vain, 
pushing, curious, garrulous ; and without wit, humor, 
or eloquence. But Carlyle is doubtless more just in 
his characterization of the biographer, in whom — vain 
and foolish though he was in many respects — he sees a 
man penetrated by the old reverent feeling of disciple- 
ship, full of love and admiration for true wisdom and 
excellence. Without such qualities, Carlyle insists, the 
"Life of Johnson" never could have been written. 
" Boswell wrote a good book," he says, " because he 
had a heart and an eye to discern wisdom, and an ut- 
terance to render it forth ; because of his free insight, 
his lively talent, and, above all, of his love and child-like 
open-mindedness." 

Most young men of generous mind have their heroes, 
especially if they be book-readers. Thus Allan Cun- 
ningham, when a mason's apprentice in IsTithsdale, walk- 
ed all the way to Edinburgh for the sole purpose of 
seeing Sir Walter Scott as he passed along the street. 
We unconsciously admire the enthusiasm of the lad, 
and respect the impulse which impelled him to make 
the journey. It is related of Sir Joshua Reynolds, that, 
when a boy of ten, he thrust his hand through interven- 
ing rows of people to touch Pope, as if there were a 
sort of virtue in the contact. At a much later period, 
the painter Haydon was proud to see and to touch Rey- 
nolds when on a visit to his native place. Rogers the 
poet used to tell of liis ardent desire, when a boy, to see 
Dr. Johnson ; but when his hand was on the knocker of 
the house in Bolt Court, his courage failed him, and he 
turned away. So the late Isaac Disraeli, when a youth, 



90 The Envy of Small Minds. [chap. hi. 

called at Bolt Court for the same purpose ; and though 
he had the courage to knock, to his dismay he was in- 
formed by the servant that the great lexicographer had 
breathed his last only a few hours before. 

•On the contrary, small and ungenerous minds can not 
admire heartily. To their own great misfortune, they 
can not recognize, much less reverence, great men and 
great things. The mean nature admires meanly. The 
toad's highest idea of beauty is his toadess. The small 
snob's highest idea of manhood is the great snob. The 
slave-dealer values a man according to his muscles. 
When a Guinea trader was told by Sir Godfrey Knel- 
ler, in the presence of Pope, that he saw before him two 
of the greatest men in the world, he replied : " I don't 
know how great you may be, but I don't like your 
looks. I have often bought a man much better than 
both of you together, all bones and muscles, for ten 
guineas !" 

Although Rochefoucauld, in one of his maxims, says 
that there is something that is not altogether disagree- 
able to us in the misfortunes of even our best friends, 
it is only the small and essentially mean nature that 
finds pleasure in the disappointment, and annoyance at 
the success, of others. There are, unhappily for them- 
selves, persons so constituted that they have not the 
heart to be generous. The most disagreeable of all 
people are those who " sit in the seat of the scorner." 
Persons of this sort often come to regard the success of 
others, even in a good work, as a kind of personal of- 
fense. They can not bear to hear another praised, es- 
pecially if he belong to their own art, or calling, or pro- 
fession. They will pardon a man's failures, but can not 
forgive his doing a thing better than they can do. And 
where they have themselves failed, they are found to be 
the most merciless of detractors. The sour critic thinks 
of his rival : 



CHAP. III.] Admiration and Imitation. 91 

"When Heaven with such parts has blest him, 
Have I not reason to detest him ?" 

The mean mind occupies itself with sneering, carping, 
and fault-finding, and is ready to scoff at every thing 
but impudent effrontery or successful vice. The great- 
est consolation of such persons are the defects of men 
of character. " If the wise erred not," says George 
Herbert, " it Avould go hard with fools." Yet, though 
wise men may learn of fools by avoiding their errors, 
fools rarely profit by the example which wise men set 
them. A German writer has said that it is a miserable 
temper that cares only to discover the blemishes in the 
character of great men or great periods. Let us rather 
judge them with the charity of Bolingbroke, who, when 
reminded of one of the alleged weaknesses of Marlbor- 
ough, observed, " He was so great a man that I forgot 
he had that defect." 

Admiration of great men, living or dead, naturally 
evokes imitation of them in a greater or less degree. 
While a mere youth, the mind of Themistocles was 
fired by the great deeds of his contemporaries, and he 
longed to distinguish himself in the service of his coun- 
try. When the battle of Marathon had been fought, 
he fell into a state of melancholy ; and when asked by 
his friends as to the cause, he replied "that the trophies 
of Miltiades would not suffer him to sleep." A few 
years later, we find him at the head of the Athenian 
army, defeating the Persian fleet of Xerxes in the bat- 
tles of Artemisium and Salami s — his country gratefully 
acknowledging that it had been saved through his wis- 
dom and valor. 

It is related of Thucydides that, when a boy, he burst 
into tears on hearing Herodotus read his history, and 
the impression made upon his mind was such as to de- 
termine the bent of his own genius. And Demosthenes 
was so fired on one occasion by the eloquence of Callis- 



92 Haydn and Porjpora. [chap. hi. 

tratus, that the ambition was roused within him of be- 
coming an orator himself. Yet Demosthenes was phys- 
ically weak, had a feeble voice, indistinct articulation, 
and shortness of breath — defects which he was only en- 
abled to overcome by diligent study and invincible de- 
termination. But with all his practice, he never became 
a ready speaker; all his orations, especially the most 
famous of them, exhibiting indications of careful elabo- 
ration — the art and industry of the orator being visible 
in almost every sentence. 

Similar illustrations of character imitating character, 
and moulding itself by the style and manner and genius 
of great men, are to be found pervading all history. 
Warriors, statesmen, orators, patriots, poets, and artists 
— all have been, more or less unconsciously, nurtured by 
the lives and actions of others living before them or 
presented for their imitation. 

Great men have evoked the admiration of kings, 
popes, and emperors. Francis de Medicis never spoke 
to Michael Angelo without uncovering, and Julius III. 
made him sit by his side while a dozen cardinals were 
standing. Charles V. made way for Titian; and one 
day, when the brush dropped from the painter's hand, 
Charles stooped and picked it up, saying, " You deserve 
to be served by an emperor." Leo X. threatened with 
excommunication whoever should print and sell the 
poems of Ariosto without the author's consent. The 
same pope attended the death-bed of Raphael, as Fran- 
cis I. did that of Leonardo da Vinci. 

Though Haydn once archly observed that he was 
loved and esteemed by every body except professors 
of music, yet all the greatest musicians were unusually 
ready to recognize each other's greatness. Haydn him- 
self seems to have been entirely free from petty jeal- 
ousy. His admiration of the famous Porpora Avas such, 
that he resolved to Grain admission to his house and 



CHAP. III.] The Great Musicians. 93 

serve hini as a valet. Having made the acquaintance 
of the family with whom Porpora lived, he was allowed 
to officiate in that capacity. Early each morning he 
took care to brush the veteran's coat, polish his shoes, 
and put his rusty wig in order. At first Porpora growl- 
ed at the intruder, but his asperity soon softened, and 
eventually melted into affection. He quickly discovered 
his valet's genius, and, by his instructions, directed it 
into the line in which Haydn eventually acquired so 
much distinction. 

Haydn himself was enthusiastic in his admiration of 
Handel. " He is the father of us all," he said on one 
occasion. Scarlatti followed Handel in admiration all 
over Italy, and, when his name was mentioned, he cross- 
ed himself in token of veneration. Mozart's recogni- 
tion of the great composer was not less hearty. " When 
he chooses," said hi3, " Handel strikes like the thunder- 
bolt." Beethoven hailed him as " the monarch of the 
musical kingdom." When Beethoven was dying, one 
of his friends sent him a present of Handel's works, in 
forty volumes. They were brought into his chamber, 
and, gazing on them with reanimated eye, he exclaimed, 
pointing at them with his finger, " There — there is the 
truth !" 

Haydn not only recognized the genius of the great 
men who had passed away, but of his young contempo- 
raries, Mozart and Beethoven. Small men may be en- 
vious of their fellows, but really great men seek out and 
love each other. Of Mozart, Haydn wrote: "I only 
wish I could impress on every friend of music, and on 
great men in particular, the same depth of musical sym- 
pathy, and profound appreciation of Mozart's inimitable 
music, that I myself feel and enjoy ; then nations would 
vie with each other to possess such a jewel wdthin their 
frontiers. Prague ought not only to strive to retain 
this precious man, but also to remunerate him; for 



9tL Masters and Disciples. [chap. hi. 

without this the history of a great genius is sad in- 
deed It enrages me to think that the unparal- 
leled Mozart is not yet engaged by some imperial or 
royal court. Forgive my excitement; but I love the 
man so dearly !" 

Mozart was equally generous in his recognition of the 
merits of Haydn. " Sir," said he to a critic, speaking 
of the latter, " if you and I were both melted down to- 
gether, we should not furnish materials for one Haydn." 
And when Mozart first heard Beethoven, he observed : 
"Listen to that young man; be assured that he will yet 
make a great name in the world." 

Buff on set ]^ewton above all other philosophers, and 
admired him so highly that he had always his portrait 
before him while he sat at work. So Schiller looked up 
to Shakspeare, whom he studied reverently and zealous- 
ly for years, until he became capable of comprehending 
nature at first hand, and then his admiration became 
even more ardent than before. 

Pitt was Canning's master and hero, whom he follow- 
ed and admired with attachment and devotion. "To 
one man, while he lived," said Canning, " I was devoted 
with all my heart and all my soul. Since the death 
of Mr. Pitt I acknowledge no leader ; my political alle- 
giance lies buried in his grave."* 

A French physiologist, M. Roux, was occupied one 
day in lecturing to his pupils, when Sir Charles Bell, 
whose discoveries were even better known and more 
highly appreciated abroad than at home, strolled into 
his class-room. The professor, recognizing his visitor, 
at once stopped his exposition, saying : "Messieurs^ c'est 
assez pour avjourcVhui, vous avez vie /Sir Charles Bell .-'" 

The first acquaintance with a great work of art has us- 
ually proved an important event in every young artist's 

* Speech at Liverpool, 1812. 



CHAP. III.] Enduringness of Good Examjyle. 95 

life. When Correggio first gazed on Raphael's " Saint 
Cecilia," he felt within himself an awakened power, and 
exclaimed, " And I too am a painter !" So Constable 
used to look back on his first sight of Claude's picture 
of "Hagar" as forming an epoch in his career. Sir 
George Beaumont's admiration of the same picture was 
such that he always took it with him in his carriage 
when he travelled from home. 

The examples set by the great and good do not die ; 
they continue to live and speak to all the generations 
that succeed them. It was very impressively observed 
by Mr. Disraeli, in the House of Commons, shortly after 
the death of Mr. Cobden : 

"There is this consolation remaining to us, when we 
remember our unequalled and irreparable losses, that 
those great men are not altogether lost to us — that their 
words will often be quoted in this House — that their 
examples will often be referred to and appealed to, and 
that even their expressions will form part of our discus- 
sions and debates. There are now, I may say, some 
members of Parliament who, though they may not be 
present, are still members of this House — who are inde- 
pendent of dissolutions, of the caprices of constituen- 
cies, and even of the course of time. I think that Mr. 
Cobden was one of those men." 

It is the great lesson of biography to teach what man 
can be and can do at his best. It may thus give each 
man renewed strength and confidence. The humblest, 
in sight of even the greatest, may admire, and hope, and 
take courage. Tliese great brothers of ours in blood 
and lineage, who live a universal life, still speak to us 
from their graves, and beckon us on in the paths which 
they have trod. Their example is still with us, to guide, 
to influence, and to direct us. For nobility of character 
is a perpetual bequest, living from age to age, and con- 
stantly tending to reproduce its like. 



96 Consolation of a Well-spent 'Life. [chap. hi. 

"The sage," say the Chinese, "is the instructor of a 
hundred ages. When the manners of Loo are heard of, 
the stupid become intelligent, and the wavering deter- 
mined." Thus the acted life of a good man continues 
to be a gospel of freedom and emancipation to all who 
succeed him : 

' ' To live in hearts Ave leave behind, 
Is not to die." 

The golden words that good men have uttered, the 
examples they have set, live through all time : they pass 
into the thoughts and hearts of their successors, help 
them on the road of life, and often console them in the 
hour of death. "And the most miserable or most pain- 
ful of deaths," said Henry Marten, the Commonwealth 
man, who died in prison, " is as nothing compared with 
the memory of a well-spent life; and great alone is he 
who has earned the glorious privilege of bequeathing 
such a lesson and example to his successors !" 





CHAPTER lY. 



WOKK. 



and the Lord be with thee." — 



"Arise therefore, and be doin^ 
1 Chronicles, xxii,, 16. 

" Work as if thou hadst to live for aye ; 

Worship as if thou wert to diQio-daj."— Tuscan Proverb. 
"C est par le travail qu'on regne." — Louis XIV. 
"Blest work ! if ever thou Avert curse of God, 
What must His blessing be ! "—J, B. Selkirk. 
"Let every man be occupied, and occupied in the highest employ- 
ment of which his nature is capable, and die with the consciousness 
that he has done his best."— Sydney Smth. 

XVrORK is one of the best educators of practical 
▼ T character. It evokes and disciplines obedience, 
self-control, attention, application, and perseverance; 
giving a man deftness and skill in his special calling, 
and aptitude and dexterity in dealing with the affairs 
of ordinary life. 

Work is the law of our being— the living principle 
that carries men and nations onward. The greater 
number of men have to work with their hands, as a 
matter of necessity, in order to live; but all must work 
m one way or another, if they would enjoy life as it 
ought to be enjoyed. 

Labor may be a burden and a chastisement, but it is 
also an honor and a glory. Without it nothing can be 
accomplished. All that is great in man comes through 
work, and civilization is its product. Were labor abol- 
ished, the i;ace of Adam were at once stricken bv moral 
death. . '^ 

It is idleness that is the curse of man— not labor 
E 



98 PU7iy on Rural Labor. [chap. iv. 

IdleneSs eats the heart out of men as of nations, and 
consumes them as rust does iron. When Alexander 
conquered The Persians, and had an opportunity of ob- 
serving their manners, he remarked that they did not 
seem conscious that there could be any thing more 
servile than a hfe of pleasure, or more princely than a 
life of toil. 

When the Emperor Severus lay on his death-bed at 
York, whither he had been borne on a litter from the 
foot of the Grampians, his final watch-word to his sol- 
diers was, '^ JLahoremus'''' (we must work) ; and nothing 
but constant toil maintained the popper and extended 
the authority of the Roman generals. 

In describing the earlier social condition of Italy, 
when the ordinary occupations of rural life were con- 
sidered compatible with the highest civic dignity, Pliny 
speaks, of the triumphant generals and their men return- 
ing contentedly to the plough. In those days the lands 
were tilled by the hands even of generals, the soil ex- 
ulting beneath a ploughshare crowned with laurels, and 
guided by a husbandman graced with triumphs : " Ipso- 
rum tunc manihus imperatorum colehantur agri: ut 
fas est credere, gaudente terra vomers laureato et tru 
umphali aratore^^ It was only after slaves became ex- 

* In the third chapter of his Natural Histoiy, Pliny relates in what 
high honor agriculture was held in the earlier days of Eome; how 
the divisions of land were measured by the quantity which could be 
ploughed by a yoke of oxen in a certain time (Jugerum, in one day ; 
actus, at one spell) ; how the greatest recompense to a general or val- 
iant citizen was a jugerum ; how the earliest surnames were derived 
from agriculture (Pilumnus, from pilum, the pestle for pounding corn ; 
Piso, from^iso, to grind corn ; Pabius, irom. f aha, a bean ; Lentulus, 
from lens, a lentil; Cicero, from cicer, a chick-pea; Babulcus from 
hos, etc.); how the highest compliment was to call a man a good 
agriculturist, or a good husbandman (Lecvples, rich, loci plenus, Pecu- 
nia, ivom. pecus, etc.); how the pasturing of cattle secretly by night 
upon unripe crops was a capital oifense, punishable by hanging ; how 
the rural tribes held the foremost rank, wliile those of the city had 
discredit thrown upon them as being an indolent race; and how 



CHAP. IV.] The Curse of Idleness. 99 

tensively employed in all departments of industry that 
labor came to be regarded as dishonorable and serv- 
ile. And so soon as indolence and luxury became the 
characteristics of the ruling classes of Rome, the down- 
fall of the empire, sooner or later, was inevitable. 

There is, perhaps, no tendency of our nature that has 
to be more carefully guarded against than indolence. 
When Mr. Gurney asked an intelligent foreigner who 
had tra'^lled over the greater part of the world, wheth- 
er he had observed any one quality which, more than 
another, could be regarded as a universal characteristic 
of our species, his answer was, in broken English, " Me 
tinkdat all men love lazyP It is characteristic of the 
savage as of the despot. It is natural to men to en- 
deavor to enjoy the products of labor without its toils. 
Indeed, so universal is this desire, that James Mill has 
argued that it was to prevent its indulgence at the ex- 
pense of society at large, that the expedient of Govern- 
ment was originally invented.* 

Indolence is equally degrading to individuals as to 
nations. Sloth never made its mark in the world, and 
never will. Sloth never climbed a hill, nor overcame a 
difficulty that it could avoid. Indolence always failed 
in Hfe, and always will. It is in the nature of things 
that it should not succeed in any thing. It is a burden, 
an incumbrance, and a nuisance — always useless, com- 
plaining, melancholy, and miserable. 

Burton, in his quaint and curious book — the only one, 
Johnson says, that ever took him out of bed two hours 
sooner than he wished to rise — describes the causes of 
Melancholy as hinging mainly on Idleness. " Idleness," 
he says, " is the bane of body and mind, the nurse of 

'■'■ Gloriam denique ipsam, a /arris, honore, ^adoream' appellabant ;" 
Adorea, or Glory, the reward of valor, being derived from Ador, or 
spelt, a kind of grain. * 

* "Essay on Government," in " Encyclopsedia Britannica." 



100 . Causes of Melancholy. [chap. iv. 

naughtiness, the chief mother of all mischief, one of the 
seven deadly sins, the devil's cushion, his pillow and 
chief reposal. . . . An idle dog will be mangy; and 
how shall an idle person escape ? Idleness of the mind 
is much worse than that of the body : wit, without em- 
ployment, is a disease — the rust of the soul, a plague, 
a hell itself. As in a standing pool, worms and filthy 
creepers increase, so do evil and corrupt thoughts in an 
idle person ; the soul is contaminated. . . . THlis much 
I dare boldly say : he or she that is idle, be they of 
what condition they will, never so rich, so well allied, 
fortunate, happy — let them have all things in abundance 
and felicity that heart can wish and desire, all content- 
ment — so long as he, or she, or they, are idle, they 
shall never be pleased, never well in body or mind, but 
weary still, sickly still, vexed still, loathing still, weep- 
ing, sighing, grieving, suspecting, offended with the 
world, with every object, wishing themselves gone or 
dead, or else carried away with some foolish phantasie 
or other."* 

Burton says a great deal more to the same effect ; the 
burden and lesson of his book being embodied in the 
pregnant sentence with which it winds up : " Only take 
this for a corollary and conclusion, as thou tenderest 
thine own welfare in this, and all other melancholy, thy 
good health of body and mind, observe this short pre- 
cept. Give not way to solitariness and idleness. JBe not 
solitary — he not idle.^^\ 

The indolent, however, are not wholly indolent. 
Though the body may shirk labor, the brain is not idle. 
If it do not grow corn, it will grow thistles, which will 
be found springing up all along the idle man's course in 
life. The ghosts of indolence rise up in the dark, ever 
staring the recreant in the face, and tormenting him : 

* Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy," part i., nicm. 2, sub. G. 
t Ibid., end of concluding chapter. 



CHAP. IV.] Excuses of Imlolence. 101 

"The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices, 
Make instniments to scourge us." 

True happiness is never found in torpor of the faculties,* 
but in their action and useful employment. It is indo- 
lence that exhausts, not action, in which there is life, 
health, and pleasure. The spirits maybe exhausted and 
wearied by employment, but they are utterly wasted by 
idleness. Hence a wise physician was accustomed to 
regard occupation as one of his most valuable remedial 
measures. " Xothing is so injurious," said Dr. Marshall 
Hall, " as unoccupied time." An archbishop of May- 
ence used to say that "the human heart is like a mill- 
stone : if you put wheat under it, it grinds the wheat into 
iiour j if you put no wheat, it grinds on, but then 'tis it- 
self it wears away." 

Indolence is usually full of excuses ; and the sluggard,* 
though unwilling to work, is often an active sophist. 
" There is a lion in the path ;" or " The hill is hard to 
climb ;" or " There is no use trying — I have tried, and 
failed, and can not do it." To the sophistries of such 
an excuser. Sir Samuel Romilly once wrote to a young- 
man : " My attack upon your indolence, loss of time, etc., 
was most serious, and I really think that it can be to 
nothing but your habitual want of exertion that can be 
ascribed your using such curious arguments as you do 
in your defense. Your theory is this : Every man does 
all the good that he can. If a particular individual does 
no good, it is a proof that he is incapable of doing it. 
That you don't write proves that you can't ; and your 
want of inclination demonstrates your want of talents. 
What an admirable system ! — and what beneficial effects 
would it be attended with if it were but universally re- 
ceived I" 

* It is characteristic of the Hindoos to regard entire inaction as the 
most perfect state, and to describe the Supreme Being as "The Un- 
movable." 



102 Industry and Leisure. [chap. iv. 

It has been truly said that to desire to possess with- 
out being burdened with the trouble of acquiring is as 
much a sign of weakness, as to recognize that every 
thing worth having is only to be got by paying its price 
is the prime secret of practical strength. Even leisure 
can not be enjoyed unless it is won by effort. If it have 
not been earned by work, the price has not been paid 
for it.* 

There must be work before and work behind, with 
leisure to fall back upon ; but the leisure, without the 
work, can no more be enjoyed than a surfeit. Life 
must needs be disgusting alike to the idle rich man as 
to the idle poor maM| who has no work to do, or, having 
work, will not do it. The wo*ds found tattooed on the 
right arm of a sentimental beggar of forty, undergo- 
•ing his eighth imprisonment in the jail of Bourges in 
France, might be adopted as the motto of all idlers : 
'-'• Le pass'e m'a trompe; le present me tourments ; Vave- 
7iir 'in^epo%tvante " (The past has deceived me ; the pres- 
ent torments me; the future terrifies me). 

The duty of industry applies to all classes and conigi- 
tions of society. All have their work to do in their re- 
spective conditions of life — the rich as well as the poor.f 

* Lessing was so impressed with the conviction that stagnant satis- 
faction was fatal to man, that he went so far as to say : "If the All- 
powerful Being, holding in one hand Truth, and in the other the 
search for Truth, said to me, ' Choose,' I would answer him, ' O All- 
powerful, keep for Thyself the Truth ; but leave to me the search for 
it, which is the better for me.'" On the other hand, Bossuet said: 
"Si je concevais une nature purement intelligente, il me semble que 
je n'y mettrais qu'entendre et aimer la verite, et que cela seul la 
rendrait heureux. " 

t The late Sir John Patteson, when in his seventieth yeai-, attended 
an annual ploughing-match dinner at Feniton, Devon, at which he 
thought it worth his while to combat the notion, still too prevalent, 
that because a man does not work merely with his bones and muscles, 
he is therefore not entitled to the appellation of a Avorking-man. " In 
recollecting similar meetings to the present," he said, "I remember 
my friend, John Pyle, rather throwing it in my teeth that I had not 



CHAP. IV.] WorTo a Universal Duty. 103 

The gentleman by birth and education, however richly 
he may be endowed with worldly possessions, can not 
but feel that lie is in duty bound to contribute his quota 
of endeavor towards the general well-being in which he 
shares. He can not be satisfied with being fed, clad, 
and maintained by the labor of others, without making- 
some suitable return to the society that upholds him. 
An honest, high-minded man would revolt at the idea of 
sitting down to and enjoying a feast, and then going 
away without paying his share of the reckoning. To be 
idle and useless is neither an honor nor a privilege ; and 
though persons of small natures may be content mere- 
ly to cou^nvnQ—fruges consumere nati — men of average 
endowment, of manly aspirations, and of honest purpose, 
will feel such a condition to be incompatible with real 
honor and true dignity. 

"I don't believe," said Lord Stanley (now Earl of 
Derby) at Glasgow, " that an unemployed man, however*^ 
amiable and otherwise respectable, ever was, or ever can ^ 
be, really' happy. As work is our life, show me what 
you can do, and I will show you what you are. I have 
spoken of love of one's work as the best preventive of 
merely low and vicious tastes. I will go farther, and 
say that it is the best preservative against petty anxie- 
ties, and the annoyances that arise out of indulged self- 

what you are talking about. "We are all workers. The man who 
ploughs the field and who digs the hedge is a worker ; but there are 
other workers in other stations of life as well. Tor myself, I can say 
that I have been a worker ever since I have been a boy.' . . . Then I 
told him that the office of judge was by no means a sinecure, for that 
a judge worked as hard as any man in the country. He has to work 
at very difficult questions of law, which are brought before him con- 
tinually, giving him gi-eat anxiety ; and sometimes the lives of his fel- 
low-creatures are placed in his hands, and are dependent very much 
upon the manner in which he places the facts before the jury. That 
is a matter of no little anxiety, I can assure you. Let any man think 
as he will, there is no man who has been through the ordeal for the 
length of time that I have but must feel conscious of the importance 
and gravity of the duty which is cast upon a judge." 



104 Lord Stanley on Work. [chap. iv. 



love. Men have thought before now that they could 
take refuge from trouble and vexation by sheltering 
themselves, as it were, in a world of their own^ The 
experiment has often been tried, and always with one 
result. You can not escape from anxiety and labor — 
it is the destiny of humanity. . . . Those who shirk 
from facing trouble find that trouble comes to them. 
The indolent may contrive that he shall have less than 
his share of the world's work to do, but I^ature, propor- 
tioning the instinct to the work, contrives that the little 
shall be much and hard to him. The man who has only 
himself to please finds, sooner or later, and probably 
sooner than later, that he has got a very hard master; 
and the excessive weakness which shrinks from respon- 
sibility has its own punishment too, for where great in- 
terests are excluded little matters become great, and the 
same wear and tear of mind that might have been at 
least usefully and healthfully exj)ended on the real busi- 
ness of life is often wasted in petty and imaginary vex- 
ations, such as breed and multiply in the unoccupied 
brain."* 

Even on the lowest ground — that of personal enjoy- 
ment — constant useful occupation is necessary. He 
who labors not can not enjoy the reward of labor. 
" We sleep sound," said Sir Walter Scott, " and our 
waking hours are happy, when they are employed ; and 
a little sense of toil is necessary to the enjoyment of lei- 
sure, even when earned by study and sanctioned by the 
discharge of duty." 

It is true, there are men who die of overwork; but 
many more die of selfishness, indulgence, and idleness. 
Where men break down by overwork, it is most com- 
monly from want of duly ordering their lives, and neg- 
lect of the ordinary conditions of physical health. Lord 

* Lord Stanley's addi'ess to the students of Glasgow University, on 
his installation as lord rector, 18G9, 



CHAP. IV.] Life and Worh 105 

Stanley was probably right when he said, in his address 
to the Glasgow students . above mentioned, that he 
doubted whether "hard, work, steadily and regularly 
carried on, ever yet hurt any bod^." 

Then, again, length of yeao^s is no proper test of 
length of life. A man's life is to be measured by what 
he does in it, and what he feels in it. The more useful 
work the man does, and the more he thinks and feels, 
the more he really lives. The idle, useless man, no mat- 
ter to what extent his life may be prolonged, merely 
vegetates. 

The early teachers of Christianity ennobled the lot of 
toil by their example. "He that will not work," said 
St. Paul, "neither shall he eat;" and he glorified him- 
self in that he had labored with his hands, and had not 
been chargeable to any man. When St. Boniface land- 
ed in Britain, he came with a gospel in one hand and 
a carpenter's^ rule in the other; and from England he 
afterwards passed over into Germany, carrying thither 
the art of building. Luther also, in the midst of a mul- 
titude of other employments, worked diligently for a liv- 
ing, earning his bread by gardening, building, turning, 
and even clock-making."* 

It was characteristic of ISTapoleon, when visiting a 
work of mechanical excellence, to pay great respect to 
the inventor, and, on taking his leave, to salute him 
with a low bow. Once at St. Helena, when walking 
with Mrs. Balcombe, some servants came along carrying 
a load. The lady, in an angry tone, ordered them out of 

* "Writing to an abbot at Nuremberg, who had sent him a store of 
tniTiing-tools, Luther said: "I have made considerable progress in 
clock-making, and I am veiy much delighted at it, for these drunken 
Saxons need to be constantly reminded of what the real time is ; not 
that they themselves care much about it, for as long as their glasses 
are kept filled, they trouble themselves very little as to whether clocks, 
or clock-makers, or the time itself, go right." — Michelet's Luther 
(Bogue ed.), p. 200. 

E 2 



106 The Dignity of Work [chap. iv. 

the way, on which Napoleon interposed, saying, "E-e- 
spect the burden, madam." Even the drudgery of the 
humblest laborer contributes towards the general well- 
being of society ; and tt was a wise saying of r. Chinese 
emperor that "if there was a man who did not work, 
or a woman that was idle, somebody must suffer cold or 
hunger in the empire." 

The habit of constant useful occupation is as essen- 
tial for the happiness and well-being of woman as of 
man. Without it women are apt to sink into a state of 
listless ennui and uselessness, accompanied by sick-head- 
ache and attacks of "nerves." Caroline Perthes care- 
fully warned her married daughter Louisa to beware of 
giving way to such listlessness. "I myself," she said, 
"when the children are gone out for a half-holiday, 
sometimes feel as stupid and dull as an owl by day- 
light ; but one must not yield to this, which happens 
more or less to all young wives. The^best relief is 
work, engaged in with interest and diligence. Work, 
then, constantly and diligently, at something or other ; 
for idleness is the devil's snare for small and great, as 
your grandfather says, and he says true."* 

Constant useful occupation is thus wholesome, not 
only for the body, but for the mind. While the sloth- 
ful man drags himself indolently through life, and the 
better part of his nature sleeps a deep sleep, if not mor- 
ally and spiritually dead, the energetic man is a source 
of activity and enjoyment to all who come within reach 
of his influence. Even any ordinary drudgery is better 
than idleness. Fuller says of Sir Francis Drake, who 
was early sent to sea, and kept close to his work by his 
master, that such " pains and patience in his youth knit 
the joints of his soul, and made them more solid and 
compact." Schiller used to say that he considered it a 

* "Life of Perthes, "ii., 20. 



CHAP. IV.] Work and Happiness. 107 

great advantage to be employed in the discharge of 
some daily mechanical duty — some regular routine of 
work, that rendered steady application necessary. 

Thousands can bear testimony to the truth of the 
saying of Greuze, the French painter, that work — em- 
ployment, useful occupation — is one of the great secret* 
of happiness. Casaubon was once induced by the en- 
treaties of his friends to take a few days' entire rest, 
but he returned to his work with the remark, that it 
was easier to bear illness doing something than doing 
nothing. 

When Charles Lamb was released for life from his 
daily drudgery of desk-work at the India Office, he felt 
himself the happiest of men. "I would not go back to 
my prison," he said to a friend, " ten years longer for 
ten thousand pounds." He also wrote in the same ec- 
static mood to Bernard Barton : " I have scarce steadi- 
ness of head to compose a letter," he said ; " I am free ! 
free as air ! I will 1^ another fifty years. . . . Would 
I could sell you some of my leisure ! Positively the 
best thing a man can do is — !N"othing ; and next to that, 
perhaps, Good Works." Two years — two long and te- 
dious years — passed; and Charles Lamb's feelings had 
undergone an entire change. He now discovered that 
official, even humdrum work — "the appointed round, 
the daily task " — had been good for him, though he 
knew it not. Time had formerly been his friend; it 
had now become his enemy. To Bernard Barton he 
again wrote; "I assure you, no work is worse than 
overwork ; the mind preys on itself — the most unwhole- 
some of food. I have ceased to care for almost any 

thing N'ever did the waters of heaven pour 

down upon a forlorner head. What I can do, and over- 
do, is to walk. I am a sanguinary murderer of time. 
But the oracle is silent." 

No man could be more sensible of the practical im- 



108 Practical Importance of Industry, [chap. I v. 

portance of industry than Sir Walter Scott, who was 
himself one of the most laborious and indefatigable of 
men. Indeed, Lockhart says of him that, taking all 
ages and countries together, the rare examj)le of inde- 
fatigable energy, in union with serene self-possession of 
mind and manner, such as Scott's, must be sought for 
in the roll of great sovereigns or great captains, rather 
than in that of Hterary genius. Scott himself was most 
anxious to impress upon the minds of his own children 
the importance of industry as a means of usefulness and 
happiness in the world. To his son Charles, w^hen at 
school, he wrote: "I can not too much impress upon 
your mind that labor is the condition which God has 
imposed on us in every station of life ; there is nothing- 
worth having that can be had without it, from the bread 
which the peasant wins with the sweat of his brow to 
the sports by which the rich man must get rid of his 

ennui As for knowledge, it can no more be 

planted in the human mind wit^ut labor than a field 
of wheat can be produced withoTit the previous use of 
the plough. There is, indeed, this great difference, that 
chance or circumstances may so cause it that another 
shall reap what the farmer sows; but no man can be 
deprived, whether by accident or misfortune, of the 
fruits of his own studies ; and the liberal and extended 
acquisitions of knowledge which he makes are all for his 
own use. Labor, therefore, my dear boy, and improve 
the time. In youth our steps are light, and our minds 
are ductile, and knowledge is easily laid up ; but if we 
neglect our spring, our summers will be useless and con- 
temptible, our harvest will be chaff, and the winter of 
our old age unrespected and desolate."* 

Southey was as laborious a worker as Scott. Indeed, 
w^ork might almost be said to form part of his religion. 



* Lockhart's "Life of Scott " (8vo cd.), p. 4-12. 



CHAP. ly.] Scott and Souihey. 109 

He was only nineteen when ]ie wrote these w^orcls : 
" Nineteen years ! certainly a fourth part of my life ; 
perha^DS how great a part ! and yet I have been of no 
service to society. The clown who scares crows for 
twopence a day is a more useful man ; he preserves the 
bread which I eat in idleness." And yet Southey had 
not been idle as a boy — on the contrary, he had been a 
most diligent student. lie had not only read largely 
in English literature, but was well acquainted, through 
translations, with Tasso, Ariosto, Homer, and Ovid. He 
felt, however, as if his life had been purposeless, and he 
determined to do something. He began, and from t^^t 
time forward he pursued, an unremitting career of liter- 
ary labor down to the close of his life — " daily progress- 
ing in learning," to use his own words — " not so learned 
as he is poor, not so poor as proud, not so proud as 
happy." 

The maxims of men often reveal their character.* 
That of Sir Walter Scott was, " Never to be doing 
nothing." Robertson the historian, as early as his fif- 
teenth year, adopted the maxim of " Yita sine Uteris 
mors est'''' (Life without learning is death). Voltaire's 
motto was, ^^ Toujour s cm travaiV (Always at work). 
The favorite maxim of Lacepede, the naturalist, was, 
" Yivre c^est veiller " (To live is to observe) : it was also 
the maxim of Pliny. When Bossuet was at college, he 
was so distinguished by his ardor in study, that his fel- 
low-students, playing upon his name, designated him as 
JJos-suetus aratro (the ox used to the plough). The 
name of Vita-lis (life a struggle), which the Swedish 
poet Sjoberg assumed, as Frederik von Hardenberg as- c^ 
sumed that of JVovor-lis, described the aspirations and 
the labors of both these men of genius. 

* Southey expresses the opinion in "The Doctor," that the charac- 
ter of a person may he better known by the letters which other per- 
sons wTite to him than by what he himself writes. 



110 Work an Educator of Character. [CHAP. iv. 

We have spoken of work as a discipline: it is also 
an educator of character. Even work that produces no 
results, because it is work, is better than torpor — inas- 
much as it educates faculty, and is thus preparatory to 
successful work. The habit of working teaches method. 
It compels economy of time, and the disposition of it 
with j udicious forethought. And when the art of pack- 
ing life with useful occupations is once acquired by 
practice, every minute will be turned to account ; and 
leisure, when it comes, will be enjoyed with all the great- 
er zest. 

^oleridge has truly observed, that " if the idle are 
described as kilUng time, the methodical man may be 
justly said to call it into life and moral being, while he 
makes it the distinct object not only of the conscious- 
ness, but of the conscience. He organizes the hours 
and gives them a soul ; and by that, the very essence 
of which is to fleet and to have been, he communicates 
an imperishable and spiritual nature. Of the good and 
faithful servant, whose energies thus directed are thus 
methodized, it is less truly affirmed that he lives in time 
than that times lives in him. His days and months and 
years, as the stops and punctual marks in the record of 
duties performed, will survive the wreck of worlds, and 
remain extant when time itself shall be no more."* 

It is because application to business teaches method 
most effectually, that it is so useful as an educator of 
character. The highest working qualities are best train- 
ed by active and sympathetic contact with others in the 
affairs of daily life. It does not matter whether the 
business relate to the management of a household or of 
a nation. Indeed, as we have endeavored to show in a 
preceding chapter, the able housewife must necessarily 
be an efficient woman of business. She must regulate 



Dissertation on the Science of IMetliod." 



CHAP. IV. J Training to Business. Ill 

and control the details of her home, keep her expendi- 
ture within her means, arrange every thing according to 
plan and system, and wisely manage and govern those 
subject to her rule. Efficient domestic management 
implies industry, application, method, moral discipline, 
forethought, prudence, practical ability, insight into char- 
acter, and power of organization — all of which are re- 
quired in the efficient management of business of Avhat- 
ever sort. 

Business qualities have, indeed, a very large field of 
action. They mean aptitude for affairs, competency to 
deal successfully with the practical work of life — wheth- 
er the spur of action lie in domestic management, in the 
conduct of a profession, in trade or commerce, in social 
organization, or in political government. And the train- 
ing which gives efficiency in dealing with these various 
affairs is of all others the most useful in practical life.* 
Moreover, it is the best discipline of character ; for it 
involves the exercise of diligence, attention, self-de- 



* The following passage, from a recent article in the Pall Mall Ga- 
zette, w-ill commend itself to general approval : 

"There can be no question nowadays, that application to work, 
absorption in affau's, contact with men, and all the stress which busi- 
ness imposes on us, gives a noble training to the intellect, and splen- 
did opportunity for discipline of character. It is an utterly low view 
of business which regards it as only a means of getting a living. A 
man's business is his part of the world's work, his share of the great 
actinties which render society possible. He may like it or dislike it, 
but it is work, and as such requires application, self-denial, discipline. 
It is his diill, and he can not be thorough in his occupation without 
putting himself into it, checking his fancies, restraining his impulses, 
and holding himself to the perpetual round of small details — without, 
in fact, submitting to his drill. But the pei-petual call on a man's 
readiness, self-control, and vigor whicli business makes, the constant 
appeal to the intellect, the stress upon the will, the necessity for rapid 
and responsible exercise of judgment — all these things constitute a 
high culture, though not the highest. It is a culture which strength- 
ens and invigorates if it does not refine, which gives force if not polish 
— tYiQfortiter in re, if not the suaviter in modo. It makes strong men 
and ready men, and men of vast capacity for affairs, though it does 
not necessarily make refined men or gentlemen." 



112 Business Qualities. [chap. iy. 

nial, judgment, tact, knowledge of and sympathy with 
others. 

Such a discipline is far more productive of happiness, 
as well as useful efficiency in life, -than any imount of 
literary culture or meditative seclusion ; for in the long 
run it will usually be found that practical ability carries 
it over intellect, and temper and habits over talent. It 
must, however, be added that this is a kind of culture 
that can only be acquired by diligent observation and 
carefully improved experience. " To be a good black- 
smith," said General Trochu, in a- recent publication, 
" one must have forged all his life : to be a good ad- 
ministrator, one should have passed his whole life in the 
study and practice of business." 

It was characteristic of Sir Walter Scott to entertain 
the highest respect for able men of business; and he 
professed that he did not consider any amount of liter- 
ary distinction as entitled to be spoken of in the same 
breath with the mastery in the higher departments of 
practical life — least of all with a first-rate captain. 

The great commander leaves nothing to chance, but 
provides for every contingency. He condescends to ap- 
parently trivial details. Thus, when Wellington was at 
the head of his army in Spain, he directed the precise 
manner in which the soldiers were to cook their provis- 
ions. When in India, he specified the exact speed at 
which the bullocks were to be driven ; every detail in 
equipment was carefully arranged beforehand. And 
thus not only was efficiency secured, but the devotion 
of his men, and their boundless confidence in his com- 
mand.* 

* On the first publication of his "Dispatches," one of his friends 
said to him, on reading the records of his Indian campaigns : "It 
seems to me, duke, that your chief business in India was to procure 
rice and bullocks." "And so it was," replied Wellington ; "for if 
I had rice and bullocks, I had men ; and if I had men, I knew I could 
beat the enemy." 



CHAP. IV.] Wellmgton — Washington. 113 

Like other great captains, Wellington Lad an almost 
boundless capacity for work. He drew np the lieads of 
a Dublin Police Bill (being still the Secretary for Ire- 
land) when tossing off the mouth of the Mondego, with 
Junot and the French army waiting for him on the 
shore. So Caesar, another of the greatest commanders, 
is said to have written an essay on Latin Rhetoric while 
crossing the Alps at the head of his army. And Wal- 
lenstein, when at the head of 60,000 men, and in the 
midst of a campaign, with the enemy before him, dic- 
tated from headquarters the medical treatment of his 
poultry-yard. 

Washington, also, was an indefatigable man of bus- 
iness. From his boyhood he diligently trained himself 
in habits of application, of study, and of methodical 
work. His manuscript school-books, Avhich are still 
preserved, show that, as early as the age of thirteen, he 
occupied himself voluntarily in copying out such things 
as forms of receipts, notes of hand, bills of exchange, 
bonds, indentures, leases, land-warrants, and other dry 
documents, all written out with great care. And the 
habits which he thus early acquired were, in a great 
measure, the 'foundation of those admirable business 
qualities which he afterwards so successfully brought 
to bear in the affairs of government. 

The man or woman who achieves success in the man- 
agement of any great affair of business is entitled to 
honor — it may be^to as much as the artist who paints a 
picture, or the author who writes a book, or the soldier 
who wins a battle. Their success may have been gain- 
ed in the face of as great difficulties, and after as great 
struggles ; and where they have won their battle, it is 
at least a peaceful one, and there is no blood on their 
hands. 

The idea has been entertained by some that business 
habits are incompatible with genius. Li the Life of 



114 Worhing Oeniuses. [chap. I v. 

Richard Lovell Edgeworth,* it is observed of a Mr. 
Bicknell — a respectable but ordinary man, of whom lit- 
tle is known but that he married Sabrina Sidney, the 
eUve of Thomas Day, author of " Sandford and Mer- 
ton" — that "he had some of the too usual faults of a 
man of genius : he detested the drudgery of business." 
But there can not be a greater mistake. The great- 
est geniuses have, without exception, been the greatest 
workers, even to the extent of drudgery. They have 
not only worked harder than ordinary men, but brought 
to their work higher faculties and a more ardent spirit. 
]N"othing great and durable was ever imj)rovised. It is 
only by noble patience and noble labor that the master- 
pieces of genius have been achieved. 

Power belongs only to the workers; the idlers are 
always powerless. It is the laborious and painstaking 
men who are the rulers of the world. There has not 
been a statesman of eminence but was a man of indus- 
try. "It is by toil," said even Louis XIV., "that 
kings govern." When Clarendon described Hampden, 
he spoke of him as " of an industry and vigilance not 
to be tired out or wearied by the most laborious, and 
of parts not to be imposed on by the most subtle and 
sharp, and of a personal courage equal to his best 
parts." While in the midst of his laborious though 
self-imposed duties, Hampden, on one occasion, wrote 
to his mother : " My lyfe is nothing but toyle, and hath 
been for many yeares, nowe to the Conimonwealth, nowe 

to the Kinge IN'ot so much tyme left as to doe 

my dutye to my deare parents, nor to sende to them." 
Indeed, all the statesman of the Commonwealth were 
great toilers ; and Clarendon himself, whether in office 
or out of it, was a man of indefatigable application and 
industry. 

* Maria Edareworth, "Memoirs of R, L. Edgeworth,"ii., 9-i. 



CH.4P. lY.] Great Toilers. 115 

The same energetic vitality, as displayed in the power 
of working, has distinguished all the eminent men in our 
own as w^ell as in past times. During the Anti-Corn- 
Law movement, Cobden, writing to a friend, described 
himself as " working like a horse, with not a moment 
to spare." Lord Brougham was a remarkable instance 
of the indefatigably active and laborious man; and it 
might be said of Lord Palmerston, that he worked 
harder for success in his extreme old age than he had 
ever done in the prime of his manhood — preserving his 
working faculty, his good-humor and honhomie^ unim- 
paired to the end.* He himself was accustomed to say 
that being in office, and consequently full of work, was 
good for his health. It rescued him from ennui. Hel- 
vetius even held that it is man's sense of ennui that is 
the chief cause of his superiority over the brute — that it 
is the necessity which he feels for escaping from its intol- 
erable suffering that forces him to employ himself active- 
ly, and is hence the greatest stimulus to human progress. 

Indeed, this living principle of constant work, of 
abundant occupation, of practical contact with men in 
the affairs of life, has in all times been the best ripener 
of the energetic vitality of strong natures. Business 
habits, cultivated and disciplined, are found alike useful 
in every pursuit — whether in politics, literature, science, 
or art. Thus, a great deal of the best literary work has 
been done by men systematically trained in business 
pursuits. The same industry, application, economy of 
time and labor, which have rendered them useful in the 
one sphere of employment, have been found equally 
available in the other. 



* A friend of Lord Palmerston has communicated to us the follow- 
ing anecdote : Asking him one day when he considered a man to be 
in the prkne of life, his immediate reply was, ' ' Seventy-nine ! " " But, " 
he added, ^^■ith a twinkle in his eye, " as I have just entered my eight- 
ieth year, perhaps I am myself a little past it." 



116 Literature and Business. [chap. iv. 

Most of the early English writers were men of affairs, 
trained to business ; for no literary class as yet existed, 
excepting it might be the priesthood. Chaucer, the fa- 
ther of English poetry, was first a soldier, and after- 
wards a comptroller of petty customs. The office was 
no sinecure either, for he had to write up all the records 
with his own hand ; and when he had done his " reck- 
onings " at the custom-house, he returned with delight 
to his favorite studies at home — poring over his books 
until his eyes were " dazed " and dull. 

The great writers in the reign of Elizabeth, during 
which there was such a development of robust life in 
England, were not literary men according to the mod- 
ern acceptation of the word, but men of action trained 
in business. Spenser acted as secretary to the Lord 
Deputy of Ireland ; Raleigh was, by turns, a courtier, 
soldier, sailor, and discoverer ; Sydney was a politician, 
diplomatist, and soldier ; Bacon was a laborious lawyer 
before he became lord keeper and lord chancellor; Sir 
Thomas Browne was a physician in country practice at 
ISTorwich; Hooker was the hard-working pastor of a 
country parish ; Shakspeare was the manager of a thea- 
tre, in which he was himself but an indifferent actor, 
and he seems to have been even more careful of his 
money investments than he was of his intellectual off- 
spring. Yet these, all men of active business habits, 
are among the greatest writers of any age; the period 
of Elizabeth and James I. standing out in the history of 
England as the era of its greatest literary activity and 
splendor. 

In the reign of Charles I., Cowley held various offices 
of trtRst and confidence. He acted as private secretary 
to several of the royalist leaders, and was afterwards 
engaged as private secretary to the queen, in ciphering 
and deciphering the correspondence which passed be- 
tween her and Charles I. — the work occupying all his 



CHAP. I v.] Literary Men and Business. 117 

days, and often his nights, during several years. And 
while Cowley was thus employed in the royal cause, 
Milton was employed by the Commonwealth, of which 
he was the Latin secretary, and afterwards secretary to 
the lord protector. Yet, in the earlier part of his life, 
Milton was occupied in the humble vocation of a teach- 
er. Dr. Johnson says, " that in his school, as in every 
thing else which he undertook, he labored with great 
diligence, there is no reason for doubting." It was af- 
ter the Restoration, when his official employment ceased, 
that Milton entered upon the principal literary work of 
his life; but before he undertook the writinof of his 
great epic, he deemed it indispensable that to " indus- 
trious and select reading" he should add "steady ob- 
servation," and "insight into all seemly and generous 
arts and affairs."^' 

Locke held office in different reigns: first under. 
Charles II. as secretary to the board of trade, and after- 
wards under William III. as commissioner of appeals 
and of trade and plantations. Many literary men of 
eminence held office in Queen Anne's reign. Thus Ad- 
dison was secretary of state ; Steele, commissioner of 
stamps ; Prior, under-secretary of state, and afterwards 
ambassador to France ; Tickell, under-secretary of state, 
and secretary to the lords justices of Ireland ; Congreve, 
secretary to Jamaica ; and Gay, secretary of legation at 
Hanover. 

Indeed, habits of business, instead of unfitting a cul- 
tivated mind for scientific or literary pursuits, are often 
the best training for them. Yoltaire insisted with truth 
that the real spirit of business and literature are the 
same ; the perfection of each being the union of energy 
and thoughtfulness, of cultivated intelligence and prac- 
tical wisdom, of the active and contemplative essence — 

* "Reasons of Church Government," book ii. 



118 The Great Italians. [chap. iv. 

a union commended by Lord Bacon as the concentrated 
excellence of man's nature. It has J3een said that even 
the man of genius can write nothing worth reading in 
relation to human affairs, unless he has been in some 
way or other connected with the serious every-day busi- 
ness of life. 

Hence it has ha|)pened that many of the best books 
extant have been written by men of business, with 
whom literature was a pastime rather than a profession. 
Gifford, the editor of the " Quarterly," who knew the 
drudgery of writing for a living, once observed that " a 
single hour of composition, won from the business of the 
day, is worth more* than the whole day's loil of him who 
works at the trade of literature: in the one case, the 
spirit comes joyfully to refresh itself, like a hart to the 
water-brooks ; in the other, it pursues its miserable way, 
panting and jaded, with the dogs and hunger of necessi- 
ty behind."* 

The first great men of letters in Italy were not mere 
men of letters ; they were men of business— merchants, 
statesmen, diplomatists, judges, and soldiers. Villani, 
the author of the best history of Florence, was a mer- 
chant ; Dante, Petrarch, and Boccacio were all engaged 
in more or less important embassies ; and Dante, before 

* Coleridge's advice to his young friends was much to the same ef- 
fect. "With the exception of one extraordinary man," he says, " I 
have never known an individual, least of all an individual of genius, 
healthy or happy without a profession; i. e,, some regular employ- 
ment which does not depend on the will of the moment, and which 
can be carried on so far mechanically, that an average quantum only 
of health, spirits, and intellectual exertion are requisite to its faithfiU 
discharge. Three hours of leisure, unalloyed by a.w alien anxiety, 
and looked forward to with delight as a change and recreation, will 
suffice to realize in literature a larger product of what is truly genial 
than weeks of compulsion. ... If facts are required to prove the pos- 
sibiUty of combining weighty performances in literature Avith full and 
independent employment, the works of Cicero and Xenophon, among 
the ancients — of Sir Thomas More, Bacon, Paxter (or, to refer at 
once to later and contemporary instances), Darwin and Roscoe, are at 
once decisive of the question." — Biographia Literaria^ chap. xi. 



CHAP. IV.] Literature and Business. 119 

becoming a diplomatist, was for some time occupied as 
a chemist and druggist. Galileo, Galvani, and Farini 
were physicians; and Goldoni a lawyer. Ariosto's tal- 
ent for affairs was as great as his genius for poetry. At 
the death of his father, he was called upon to manage 
the family estate for the benefit of his younger broth- 
ers and sisters, which he did with ability and integrity. 
His genius for business having been recognized, he was 
employed by the Duke of Ferrara on important missions 
to Rome and elsewhere. Having afterwards been ap- 
pointed governor of a turbulent mountain district, he 
succeeded, by firm and just government, in reducing it 
to a condition of comparative good order and security. 
Even the bandits of the country respected him. Being 
arrested one day in the mountains by a body of out- . 
laws, he mentioned his name, when they at once offered 
to escort him in safety wherever he chose. 

It has been the same in other countries. Vattel, the 
author of the " Rights of Nations," was a practical di- 
l^lomatist, and a first-rate man of business. Rabelais 
was a physician, and a successful practitioner; Schiller 
was a surgeon ; Cervantes, Lope de Vega, Calderon, 
Camoens, Descartes, Maupertius, La Rochefoucauld, 
Lacepede, Lamark, were soldiers in the early part of 
their respective lives. 

In our own country, many men now known by their 
writings earned their living by their trade. Lillo spent 
the greater part of his life as a working jeweller in the 
Poultry, occupying the intervals of his leisure in the 
production of dramatic works, some of them of acknowl- 
edged power and merit. Izaak Walton was a linen- /^ 
draper in Fleet Street, reading much in his leisure hours, 
and storing his mind with facts for future use in his ca- 
pacity of biographer. De Foe was by turns horse-fac- 
tor, brick and tile maker, shop-keeper, author, and polit- ^ 
ical asfent. 



120 Modern Literary Workers. [chap. iv. 

Samuel Richardson successfully combined literature 
with business — writing his novels in his 'back shop in 
Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, and selling them over the 
counter in his front shop. "William Hutton, of Birming- 
ham, also successfully combined the occupations of book- 
selling and authorship. He says, in his Autobiography, 
that a man may live half a century and not be acquaint- 
ed with his own character. He did not know that he 
was an antiquary until the world informed him of it, from 
having read his "History of Birmingham," and then, he 
said, he could see it himself. Benjamin Franklin was 
alike eminent as a printer and bookseller — an author, a 
philosopher, and a statesman. 

Coming down to our own time, we find Ebenezer El- 
liott successfully carrying on the business of a bar-iron 
merchant in Shefiield, during which time he wrote and 
published the greater number of his poems ; and his 
success in business was such as to enable him to retire 
into the country and build a house of his own, in which 
he spent the remainder of his days. Isaac Taylor, the 
author of the " Natural History of Enthusiasm," was an 
engraver of patterns for Manchester calico-printers; and 
other members of this gifted family were followers of 
the same branch of art. 

The principal early works of John Stuart Mill were 
written in the intervals of official work, while he held 
the office of principal examiner in the East India House 
— in which Charles Lamb, Peacock, the author of 
" Headlong Hall," and Edwin Norris, the philologist, 
were also clerks. Macaulay wrote his " Lays of Ancient 
Home" in the war office, while holding the post of sec- 
retary of war. It is well known that the thoughtful 
writings of Mr. Helps are literally " Essays written in 
the Intervals of Business." Many of our best living 
authors are men holding important public offices — such 
as Sir Henry Taylor, Sir John Kaye, Anthony Trol- 



CHAP. IV.] Woj'Jcers in Leisure Hours. 121 

lope, Tom Taylor, Matthew Arnold, and Samuel War- 
ren. 

Mr. Proctor the poet, better known as " Barry Corn- 
wall," was a barrister and commissioner in lunacy. 
Most probably he assumed the pseudonym for the same 
reason that Dr. Paris published his "Philosophy in 
Sport made Science in Earnest " anonymously — because 
he apprehended that, if known, it might compromise his 
professional position. For it is by no means an uncom- 
mon prejudice, still prevalent among City men, that a 
person who has written a book, and still more one who 
has written a })oem, is good for nothing in the way of 
business. Yet Sharon Turner, though an excellent his- 
torian, was no worse a solicitor on that account ; while 
the brothers Horace and James Smith, authors of " The 
Rejected Addresses," were men of such eminence in 
their profession, that they were selected to fill the im- 
portant and lucrative post of solicitors to the Admiral- 
ty, and they filled it admirably. 

It was while the late Mr. Broderip, the barrister, was 
acting as a London police magistrate, that he was at- 
tracted to the study of natural history, in which he oc- 
cupied the greater part of his leisure. He wrote the 
principal articles on the subject for the "Penny Cyclo- 
paedia," besides several separate works of great merit, 
more particularly the "Zoological Recreations," and 
" Leaves from the ¥ote-book of a Naturalist." It is re- 
corded of him that, though he devoted so much of his 
time to the production of his works, as well as to the 
Zoological Society and their admirable establishment in 
Regent's Park, of which he was one of the founders, his 
studies never interfered with the real business of his 
life, nor is it known that a single question was ever 
raised upon his conduct or his decisions. And while 
Mr. Broderip devoted himself to natural history, the 
late Lord Chief Baron Pollock devoted his leisure to 

F 
« 



122 Business Value of Culture. [chap. iv. 

natural science, recreating himself in the practice of 
photography and the study of mathematics, in both of 
which he was thoroughly proficient. 

Among literary bankers we find the names of Rog- 
ers, the poet ; Roscoe, of Liverpool, the biographer of 
Lorenzo de Medici ; Ricardo, the author of " Political 
Economy and Taxation;"* Grote, the author of the 
''History of Greece;" Sir John Lubbock, the scientific 
antiquarian ;f and Samuel Bailey, of Shefiield, the au- 
thor of " Essays on the Formation and Publication of 
Opinions," besides various important works on ethics, 
political economy, and philosophy. 

Nor, on the other hand, have thoroughly-trained men 
of science and learning proved themselves inefiScient as 
first-rate men of business. Culture of the best sort 
trains the habit of application and industry, disciplines 
the mind, supplies it with resources, and gives it free- 
dom and vigor of action — all of which are equally req- 
uisite in the successful conduct of business. Thus, in 
young men, education and scholarship usually indicat<3 
steadiness of character, for they imply continuous atten- 
tion, diligence, and the ability and energy necessary to 
master knowledge; and such persons will also usually 
be found possessed of more than average promptitude, 
address, resource, and dexterity. 

Montaigne has said of true philosophers that " if they 
were great in science, they were yet much greater in ac- 
tion; . . . and Avhenever they have been put upon the 
proof, they have been seen to fly to so high a pitch, as 

* Mr. Ricardo published his celebrated "Theoiy of Rent," at the 
urgent recommendation of James Mill (like his son, a chief clerk in 
the India House), author of the "History of British India." When 
the "Theory of Rent" was written, Ricardo was so dissatisfied with 
it that he wished to burn it ; but Mr. Mill urged him to publish it, 
and the book was a great success. 

t The late Sir John Lubbock, his father, was also eminent as a 
mathematician and astronomer. 



CHAP. ly.] speculative and Practical Ability. 123 

made it very well appear their souls were strangely ele- 
vated and enriched with the knowledge of things."* 

At the same time, it must be acknowledged that too 
exclusive a devotion to imaginative and philosophical 
literature, especially if prolonged in life until the habits 
become formed, does to a great extent incapacitate a 
man for the business of practical life. Speculative abil- 
ity is one thing, and practical ability another; and the 
man who, in his study, or with his pen in hand, shows 
himself capable of forming large views of life and poli- 
cy, may, in the outer world, be found altogether unfitted 
for carrying them into practical effect. 

Speculative ability depends on vigorous thinking — 
practical ability on vigorous acting ; and the two quali- 
ties are usually found combined in very unequal propor- 
tions. The speculative man is prone to indecision; he 
sees all the sides of a question, and his action becomes 
suspended in nicely weighing the pros^and cons, which 
are often found pretty nearly to balance each other; 
whereas the practical man overleaps logical prelimina- 
ries, arrives at certain definite convictions, and procGeds 
forthwith to carry his policy into action. f 

* Thales, once, inveighing in discourse against the pains and care 
men put themselves to to become rich, was answered by one in the 
company that he did like the fox, who found fault with what he could 
not obtain. Thereupon Thales had a mind, for the jest's sake, to 
show them the contrary ; and having upon this occasion for once 
made a muster of all his wits, wholly to employ them in the service 
of pi-ofit, he set a traffic on foot, which in one year brought him in so 
great riches, that the most expei'ienced in that trade could hardly in 
their whole lives, with all their industry, have raked so much to- 
gether. — Montaigne's Essays, book i., chap. 24. 

t "The understanding," says Mr. Bailey, "that is accustomed to 
pursue a regular and connected train of ideas becomes in some meas- 
ure incapacitated for those quick and versatile movements which are 
learnt in the commerce of the world, and are indispensable to those 
who act a part in it. Deep thinking and practical talents require in- 
deed habits of mind so essentially dissimilar, that while a man is 
striving after the one, he will be unavoidably in danger of losing the 
other." "Thence," he adds, "do we so 8ften find men, who are 



124 Napoleon and Men of Science. [CHAP. iv. 

Yet there have been many great men of science who 
have proved efficient men of business. We do not learn 
that Sir Isaac Xewton made a worse Master of the Mint 
because he was the greatest of philosophers. Nor were 
there any complaints as to the efficiency of Sir John 
Herschel, who held the same office. The brothers Hum- 
boldt were alike capable men in all that they undertook 
— whether it was literature, philosophy, mining, philolo- 
gy, diplomacy, or statesmanship. 

Niebuhr, the historian, was distinguished for his en- 
ergy and success as a man of business. He proved so 
efficient as secretary and accountant to the African con- 
sulate, to which he had been appointed by the Danish 
Government, that he was afterwards selected as one of 
the commissioners to manage the national finances ; and 
he quitted that office to undertake the joint directorship 
of a bank at Berlin. It was in the midst of his business 
occupations that he found time to study Roman history, 
to master the Arabic, Russian, and other Sclavonic lan- 
guages, and to build up the great reputation as an au- 
thor by which he is now chiefly remembered. 

Having regard to the views professed by the First 
Napoleon as to men of science, it was to have been ex- 
pected that he would endeavor to strengthen his admin- 
istration by calling them to his aid. Some of his ap- 
pointments proved failures, while others were complete- 
ly successful. Thus Laplace was made minister of the 
interior; but he had no sooner been appointed than it 
was seen that a mistake had been made. Napoleon af- 
terwards said of him, that " Laplace looked at no ques- 
tion in its true point of view. Pie was always search- 
ing after subtleties ; all his ideas were problems, and he 
carried the spirit of the infinitesimal calculus into the 



'giant sin the closet,' prove but 'children in the -world.'" — ^^Esswjs 
on the Formation and Publication of Opinions," pp. 2ol-'53. 



cnAP. IV.] Employment of Leisure. 125 

management of business." But Laplace's habits had 
been formed in the study, and he was too old to adapt 
them to the purposes of practical life. 

With Daru it was different. But Daru had the ad- 
vantage of some practical training in business, having 
served as an intendant of the army in Switzerland un- 
der Massena, during which he also distinguished him- 
self as an author. "When Napoleon proposed to ap- 
point him a councillor of state and intendant of the 
imperial household, Daru hesitated to accept the office. 
" I have passed the greater part of my life," he said, 
"among books, and have not had time to learn the func- 
tions of a courtier." " Of courtiers," replied Napoleon, 
"I have plenty about me; they will never fail. But I 
want a minister at once enlightened, firm, and vigilant; 
and it is for these qualities that I have selected you." 
Daru complied with the emperor's wishes, and eventu- 
ally became his prime minis*ter, proving thoroughly ef. 
ficient in that capacity, and remaining the same modest, 
honorable, and disinterested man that he had ever been 
through life. 

Men of trained working faculty so contract the habit 
of labor that idleness becomes intolerable to them ; and 
when driven by circumstances from their own special 
line of occupation, they find refuge in other pursuits. 
The diligent man is quick to find employment for his 
leisure ; and he is able to make leisure when the idle 
man finds none. " He hath no leisure," says George 
Herbert, "who useth it not." "The most active or busy 
man that hath been or can be," says Bacon, " hath, no 
question, many vacant times of leisure, while he expect- 
eth the tides and returns of business, except he be ei- 
ther tedious and of no dispatch, or lightly and unworthi- 
ly ambitious to meddle with things that may be better 
done by others." Thus many great things have been 
done during such "vacant times of leisure," by men to 



126 Uses of Hobbies. [chap. I v. 

whom industry had become a second nature, and who 
found it easier to work than to be idle. 

Even hobbies are useful as educators of the working 
faculty. Hobbies evoke industry of a certain kind, and 
at least provide agreeable occupation. ISTot such hob- 
bies as that of Domitian, who occupied himself in catch- 
ing flies. The hobbies of the King of Macedon, who 
made lanterns, and of the King of France, who made 
locks, were of a more respectable order. Even a rou- 
tine mechanical employment is felt to be a relief by 
minds acting under high pressure : it is an intermission 
of labor — a rest — a relaxation, the pleasure consisting in 
the work itself rather than in the result. 

But the best of hobbies are intellectual ones. Thus 
men of active mind retire from their daily business to 
find recreation in other pursuits — some in science, some 
in art, and the greater number in literature. Such rec- 
reations are among the best preservatives against self- 
ishness and vulgar worldliness. We believe it was 
Lord Brougham who said, " Blessed is the man that 
hath a hobby !" and, in the abundant versatility of his 
nature, he himself had many, ranging from literature to 
optics, from history and biography to social science. 
Lord Brougham is even said to have written a novel ; 
and the remarkable story of the "Man in the Bell," 
which appeared many years ago in "Blackwood," is 
reputed to have been from his pen. Litellectual hob- 
bies, however, must not be ridden too hard ; else, in- 
stead of recreating, refreshing, and invigorating a man's 
nature, they may only have the effect of sending him 
back to his business exhausted, enervated, and depressed. 

Many laborious statesmen besides Lord Brougham 
have occupied their leisure, or consoled themselves in 
retirement from office, by the composition of works 
which have become part of the standard literature of 
the world. Thus " Ca3sar's Commentaries" still sur- 



CHAP. IV.] Literary Statesmen. 127 

vive as a classic ; the perspicuous and forcible style in 
which they are written placing him in the same rank 
with Xenophon, who also successfully combined the pur- 
suit of letters with the business of active life. 

When the great Sully was disgraced as a minister, 
and driven into retirement, he occupied his leisure in 
writing out his " Memoirs," in anticipation of the judg- 
ment of posterity upon his career as a statesman. Be- 
sides these, he also composed part of a romance after 
the manner of the Scuderi school, the manuscript of 
which was found among his papers at his death. 

Turgot found a solace for the loss of office, from 
which he had been driven by the intrigues of his ene- 
mies, in the study of physical science. He also revert- 
ed to his early taste for classical literature. During his 
long journeys, and at nights when tortured by the gout, 
he amused himself by making Latin verses ; though the 
only line of his that has been preserved was that in- 
tended to designate the portrait of Benjamin Franklin : 

"Eripuit coslo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis." ) 

Among more recent French statesmen — with whom, 
however, literature has been their profession as much as 
politics — may be mentioned De Tocqueville, Thiers, Gui- 
zot, and Lamartine ; while Xapoleon' III. challenged a 
place in the Academy by his " Life of Caesar." 

Literature has also been the chief solace of our great- 
est Enghsh statesmen. When Pitt retired from office, 
like his great contemporary, Fox, he reverted with de- 
light to the study of the Greek and Roman classics. 
Indeed, Grenville considered Pitt the best Greek scholar ^ 
he had ever known. Canning and Wellesley, when in 
retirement, occupied themselves in translating the odes 
and satires of Horace. Canning's passion for literature 
entered into all his pursuits, and gave a color to his 
whole life. His biographer says of him, that after a 



128 jSir George C. Lewis. [chap. IV. 

dinner at Pitt's, while the rest of the company were dis- 
persed in conversation, he and Pitt would be observed 
poring over some old Grecian in a corner of the draw- 
ing-room. Fox also was a diligent student of the 
Greek authors, and, like Pitt, read Lycophron. He was 
also the author of a History of James II., though the 
book is only a fragment, and, it must be confessed, is 
rather a disappointing work. 

One of the most able and laborious of our recent 
statesmen — with whom literature Avas a hobby as well 
as a pursuit — was the late Sir George Cornewall Lewis. 
He was an excellent man of business — diligent, exact, 
and painstaking. He filled by turns the offices of presi- 
dent of the poor-law board — the machinery of which he 
created — chancellor of the exchequer, home secretary, 
and secretary at war ; and in each he achieved the repu- 
tation of a thoroughly successful administrator. In the 
intervals of his official labors he occupied liimself with 
inquiries into a wide range of subjects — history, politics, 
philology, anthropology, and antiquarianism. His works 
on "The Astronomy of the Ancients," and "Essays on 
the Formation of the Romanic Languages," might have 
been written by the profoundest of German savants. 
He took especial delight in pursuing the abstruser 
branches of learning, and found in them his chief pleas- 
ure and recreation. Lord Palmerston sometimes re- 
monstrated with bim, telling him he was " taking too 
much out of himself" by laying aside official papers 
after office-hours in order to study books ; Palmerston 
himself declaring that he had no time to read books 
— that the reading of manuscript was quite enough for 
him. 

Doubtless Sir George Lewis rode his hobby too hard, 
and, but for his devotion to study, his useful life would 
probably have been prolonged. Whether in or out of 
office, he read, wrote, and studied. He relinquished the 



CHAP. IV.] Consolations of Literature. 129 

editorship of the " Edinburgh Review " to become chan- 
cellor of the exchequer; and when no longer occupied 
in preparing budgets, he proceeded to copy out a mass 
of Greek manuscripts at the British Museum. He took 
particular delight in pursuing any difficult inquiry in 
classical antiquity. One of the odd subjects with which 
he occupied himself was an examination into the truth 
of reported cases of longevity, Avhich, according to his 
custom, he doubted or disbelieved. This subject was 
uppermost in his mind while pursuing his canvass of 
Herefordshire in 1852. On applying to a voter one Say 
for his support, he was met by a decided refusal. " I 
am sorry," was the candidate's reply, " that you can't 
give me your vote ; but perhaps you can tell me wheth- 
er any body in your parish has died at an extraordina- 
ry age !" 

The contemporaries of Sir George Lewis also furnish 
many striking instances of the consolations afforded by 
literature to statesmen wearied with the toils of pubUc 
life. Though the door of office may be closed, that of lit- 
erature stands always open, and men who are at dag- 
gers-drawn in politics, join hands over the poetry of 
Homer and Horace. The late Earl of Derby, on retiring 
from power, produced his noble version of " The Iliad," 
which will probably continue to be read when his speech- 
es have been forgotten. Mr. Gladstone similarly occu- 
pied his leisure in preparing for the press his " Studies 
on Homer,"* and in editing a translation of " Farini's 
Roman State ;" while Mr. Disraeli signahzed his retire- 
ment from office by the production of his "Lothair." 
Among: statesmen who have fio-ured as novelists, besides 



* Mr. Gladstone is as great an enthusiast in literature as Canning 
was. It is related of him that, while he was waiting in his commit- 
tee-room at Livei-pool for the returns coming in on the day of the 
South Lancashire polling, he occupied himself in proceeding with the 
translation of a work which he was then preparing for the press. 

F 2 



130 Work and Overwork. [chap. iv. 

Mr. Disraeli, are Lord Russell, who lias also contributed 
largely to history and biography ; the Marquis of Nor- 
manby, and the veteran novelist. Lord Lytton, with 
whom, indeed, politics may be said to have been his 
recreation, and literature the chief employment of his 
life. 

To conclude: a fair measure of work is good for mind 
as well as body. Man is an intelligence sustained and 
preserved by bodily organs, and their active exercise 
is necessary to the enjoyment of health. It is not work, 
but overwork, that is hurtful; and it is not hard w^ork 
that is injurious so much as monotonous work, fagging 
work, hopeless work. All hopeful work is healthful ; 
and tor be usefully and hopefully employed is one of the 
great secrets of happiness. Brain- work, in moderation, 
is no more wearing than any other kind of work. Duly 
regulated, it is as promotive of health as bodily exer- 
cise ; and, where due attention is paid to the physical 
system, it seems difficult to put more upon a man than 
he can bear. Merely to eat and drink and sleej) one's 
way idly through life is vastly more injurious. The 
wear-and-tear of rust is even faster than the tear-and- 
w^ear of work. 

But overwork is always bad economy. It is, in fact, 
great waste, especially if conjoined with worry. In- 
deed, worry kills far more than work does. It frets, it 
excites, it consumes the body — as sand and grit, which 
occasion excessive friction, w^ear out the wheels of a ma- 
chine. Overwork and worry have both to be guarded 
against. For over-brain-work is strain-work ; and it is 
exhausting and destructive according as it is in excess 
of nature. And the brain-w^orker may exhaust and 
overbalance his mind by excess, just as the athlete may 
overstrain his muscles and break his back by attempting 
feats beyond the strength of his physical system. 



CHAPTER y. 

COURAGE. 

" It is not but the tempest that doth show » 

The seaman's cunning; but the field that tries 
The captain's courage ; and we come to know 
Best what men are, in their worst jeopardies." — Daniel. 

" If thou canst plan a noble deed, 
And never flag till it succeed. 
Though in the strife thy heart should bleed, 
AVhatever obstacles control. 
Thine hour will come — go on, true soul ! 
Thou'lt win the prize, thou'lt reach the goal." 

C. Mackat. 

"The heroic example of other days is in great part the source of 
the courage of each generation ; and men walk up composedly to the 
most perilous entei-prises, beckoned onward by the shades of the 
braves that were." — Helps. 

" That which we are, Ave are — 
One equal temper of heroic hearts. 
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will 
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." 

Texxtsox. 

THE world owes much to its men and Avomen of 
courage. We do not mean physical courage, in 
which man is at least equalled by the bull-dog ; nor is 
the bull-dog considered the wisest of his species. 

The courage that displays itself in silent effort and 
endeavor — that dares to endure all and suffer all for 
truth and duty — is more truly heroic than the achieve- 
ments of physical valor, which are rewarded by honors 
and titles, or by laurels sometimes steeped in blood. 

It is moral courage that characterizes the highest or- 
der of manhood and womanhood — the courage to seek 
and to speak the truth; the courage to be just; the 



132 Moral Courage. [CHAP. v. 

courage to be honest ; the courage to resist temptation ; 
the courage to do one's duty. If men and women do 
not possess this virtue, they have no security whatever 
for the preservation of any other. 

Every step of progress in the history of our race has 
been made in the face of opposition and difficulty, and 
been achieved and secured by men of intrepidity and 
valor — by leaders in the van of thought — by great dis- 
coverers, great patriots, and great workers in all walks 
of life. There is scarcely a great truth or doctrine but 
has had to fight its way to public recognition in the face 
of detraction, calumny, and persecution. " Everywhere," 
says Heine, " that a great soul gives utterance to its 
thoughts, there also is a Golgotha." 

"Many loved Truth and lavished life's best oil, 
Amid the dust of books to find her, 
Content at last, for guerdon of their toil. 

With the east mantle she had left behind her. 
Many in sad faith sought for her. 
Many Avith crossed hands sighed for her, 
But these, our brothers, fought for her, 
At life's dear peril wrought for her, 
So loved her that they died for her, 
Tasting the raptured fleetness 
Of her divine completeness."* 

Socrates was condemned to drink the hemlock at 
Athens in his seventy-second year, because his lofty 
teaching ran counter to the prejudices and party spirit 
of his age. He was charged by his accusers wi^h cor- 
rupting the youth of Athens by inciting them to despise 
the tutelary deities of the state. He had the moral 
courage to brave not only the tyranny of the judges who 
condemned him, but of the mob who could not under- 
stand him. He died discoursing of the doctrine of the 
immortality of the soul; his last words to his judges 
being, " It is now time that we depart — I to die, you to 

* James Russell Lowell. 



CHAP, v.] Martyrs of Science. 133 

live; but which has the better destiny is unknown to 
all except to the God." 

How many great men and thinkers have been perse- 
^ cuted in the name of religion ! Bi-uno was burnt alive 
at Rome, because of his exposure of the fashionable but 
false philosophy of his time. When the judges of the 
Inquisition condemned him to die, Bruno said, proudly, 
" You are more afraid to pronounce my sentence than I 
am to receive it." 

To him succeeded Galileo, whose character as a man 
of science is almost eclipsed by that of the martyr. De- 
nounced by the priests from the pulpit, because of the 
views he taught as to the motion of the earth, he was 
summoned to Rome, in his seventieth year, to answer 
for his heterodoxy. And he was imprisoned in the In- 
quisition, if he was not actually put to the torture there. 
He was pursued by persecution even when dead, the 
pope refusing a tomb for his body. 

Roger Bacon, the Franciscan monk, was persecuted 
on account of his studies in natural philosophy, and 
he was charged with dealing in magic, because of his 
investigations in chemistry. His writings were con- 
demned, and he was thrown into prison, where he lay 
for ten years, during the lives of four successive popes. 
It is even averred that he died in prison. 

Ockham, the early English speculative philosopher, 
was excommunicated by the pope, and died in exile at 
Munich, where he was protected by the friendship of the 
then Emperor of Germany. 

The Inquisition branded Vesalius as a heretic for re- 
vealing man to man, as it had before branded Bruno 
and Galileo for revealing the heavens to man. Vesalius 
had the boldness to study the structure of the human 
body by actual dissection, a practice until then almost 
entirely forbidden. He laid the foundations of a sci- 
ence, but he paid for it with his life. Condemned by 



IStt Persecution of Great Discoverers. [CHAP. y. 

the Inquisition, his penalty was. commuted, by the inter- 
cession of the Spanish king, into a pilgrimage to the 
Holy Land ; and when on his way back, while still in the 
prime of life, he died miserably at Zante, of fover and 
want — a martyr to his love of science. 

When the "Novum Organon" appeared, a hue and 
cry was raised against it, because of its alleged tend- 
ency to produce " dangerous revolutions," to " subvert 
governments," and to " overturn the authority of relig- 
ion ;"* and one Dr. Henry Stubbe (whose name would 
otherwise have been forgotten) wrote a book against the 
new philosophy, denouncing the whole tribe of experi- 
mentalists as " a Bacon-faced generation." Even the 
establishment of the Royal Society was opposed, on the 
{^ ground that " experimental philosophy is subversive of 
the Christian faith." 

While the followers of Copernicus were persecuted as 
infidels, Kepler was branded with the stigma of here- 
sy, " because," said he, " I take that side which seems to 
me to be consonant with the Word of God." Even the 
pure and simple-minded Newton, of whom Bishop Bur- 
net said that he had the lohitest soul he ever knew — 
who was a very infant in the purity of his mind — even 
Newton was accused of " dethroning the Deity " by his 
sublime discovery of the law of gravitation ; and a sim- 
ilar charge was made against Franklin for exjilaining 
the nature of the thunderbolt. 

Spinoza was excommunicated by the Jews, to whom 
he* belonged, because of his views of philosophy, which 
were supposed to be adverse to rehgion; and his life 
was afterwards attempted by an assassin for the same 
reason. Spinoza remained courageous and self-reliant 
to the last, dying in obscurity and poverty. 

* Yet Bacon himself had written, "I would rather believe all the 
faiths in the Legend, and the Talmud, and the Alcoran, than that 
this universal frame is without a mind." 



CHAP, v.] Hostility to Neio Views. 135 

The philosophy of Descartes was denounced as lead- 
ing to irreligion; the doctrines of Locke were said to 
produce materialism ; and in our own day, Dr. Buck- 
land, Mr. Sedgwick, and other leaditig geologists, have 
been accused of overturning revelation with regard to 
the constitution and history of the earth. Indeed, there 
has scarcely been a discovery in astronomy, in natural t 
history, or in physical science, that has not been at- ^ 
tacked by the bigoted and narrow-minded as leading to 
infidelity. 

Other great discoverers, though they may not have 
been charged with irreligion, have had not less obloquy 
of a professional and public nature to encounter. When 
Dr. Harvey published his theory of the circulation of 
the blood, his practice fell off,* and the medical profes- 
sion stigmatized him as a fool. " The few good things 
I have been able to do," said John Hunter, " have been 
accomplished with the greatest difficulty, and encoun- 
tered the greatest opposition." Sir Charles Bell, while 
employed in his important investigations as to the nerv- 
ous system, which issued in one of the greatest of phys- 
iological discoveries, wrote to a f rien^: " If I were not 
so poor, and had not so many vexations to encounter, 
how happy would I be !" But he himself observed that 
his practice sensibly fell off after the publication of each 
successive stage of his discovery. 

Thus nearly every enlargement of the domain of 
knowledge, which has made us better acquainted with 
the heavens, with the earth, and with ourselves, has 
been established by the energy, the devotion, the self- 
sacrifice, and the courage of the great spirits of past 
times, who, however much they have been opposed or 
reviled by their contemporaries, now rank among those 

* Aubrey, in his " N/Itural History of Wiltshire," aUuding to Har- 
vey, says: "He told me himself that, upon publishing that book, he 
fell in his practice extremely." 



136 Martyrs of Faith. [chap. v. 

whom the enlio'htened of the human race most cleli<]jht 
to honor. 

Nor is the unjust intolerance displayed towards men 
of science in the past without its lesson for the present. 
It teaches us to be forbearant towards those who differ 
from us, provided they observe patiently, think honest- 
ly, and utter their convictions freely and truthfully. It 
was a remark of Plato, that " the world is God's epistle 
to mankind ;" and to read and study that epistle, so as 
to elicit its true meaning, can have no other effect on a 
well-ordered mind than to lead to a deeper impression 
of His power, a clearer perception of His wisdom, and 
a more grateful sense of His goodness. 

While such has been the courage of the martyrs of 
science, not less glorious has been the courage of the 
martyrs of faith. The passive endurance of the man or 
woman who, for conscience' sake, is found ready to suffer 
and to endure in solitude, without so much as the en- 
couragement of even a single sympathizing voice, is an 
exhibition of courage of a far higher kind than that dis- 
played in the roar of battle, where even the weakest 
feels encouraged and inspired by the enthusiasm of sym- 
pathy and the power of numbers. Time would fail to 
tell of the deathless names of those who through faith 
in principles, and in the face of difficulty, danger, and 
suffering, " have wrought righteousness and waxed val- 
iant" in the moral warfare of the world, and been con- 
tent to lay down their lives rather than prove false to 
their conscientious convictions of the truth. 

Men of this stamp, inspired by a high sense of duty, 
have in past times exhibited character in its most heroic 
aspects, and continue to present to us some of the no- 
blest spectacles to be seen in history. Even women, full 
of tenderness and gentleness, not less than men, have in 
this cause been found capable of e'xhibiting the most 
unflinching courage. Such, for instance, as that of Anne 



CHAP, v.] Martyrs of Faith. 137 



* 



Askew, who, when racked until her bones were dislo- 
cated, uttered no cry, moved no muscle, but looked her 
tormentors calmly in the face, and refused either to 
confess or to recant; or such as that of Latimer and 
Ridley, who, instead of bewailing their hard fate and 
beating their breasts, went as cheerfully to their death 
as a bridegroom to the altar — the one bidding the other 
to " be of good comfort," for that " we shall this day 
light such a candle in England, by God's grace, as shall 
never be put out ;" or such, again, as that of Mary Dyer, 
the Quakeress, hanged by the Puritans of New England 
for preaching to the people, who ascended the scaffold 
with a willing step, and, after calmly addressing those 
who stood about, resigned herself into the hands of her 
persecutors, and died in peace and joy. 

Not less courageous was the behavior of the good Sir 
Thomas More, who marched willingly to the scaffold, 
and died cheerfully there, rather than i3rove false to his 
conscience. When More had made his final decision to 
stand upon his principles, he felt as if he had won a vic- 
tory, and said to his son-in-law Roper : " Son Roper, I 
thank our Lord, the field is won !" The Duke of Nor- 
folk told him of his danger, saying: "By the mass. 
Master More, it is perilous striving with princes ; 'the 
anger of a prince brings death I" *^Is that all, my 
lord?" said More; "then the difference between you 
and me is this — that I shall die to-day, and you to- 
morrow." 

While it has been the lot of many great men, in times 
of difficulty and danger, to be cheered and supported by 
their wives. More had no such consolation. His help- 
mate did any thing but console him during his impris- 
onment in the Tower.* She could not conceive that 

* Sir Thomas ISIore's first wife, Jane Colt, was originally a young 
country girl, whom he himself instructed in letters, and moulded to 
bis own tastes and manners. She died young, leaving a son and 



188 Sir Thomas More. [CHAP. v. 

there was any sufficient reason for his continuing to lie 
there, when, by merely doing what the king required of 
him, he might at once enjoy his liberty, together with 
his fine house at Chelsea, his library, his orchard, his 
gallery, and the society of his wife and children. " I 
marvel," said she to him one day, " that you, who have 
been alway hitherto taken for wise, should now so play 
the fool as to lie here in this close, filthy prison, and be 
content to be shut up among mice and rats, when you 
might be abroad at your Hberty, if you would but do as 
the bishops have done !" But More saw his duty from 
a different point of view : it was not a mere matter of 
personal comfort with him; and the expostulations of 
his wife were of no avail. He gently put her aside, say- 
ing, cheerfully, " Is not this house as nigh heaven as my 
own ?"— to which she contemptuously rejoined : " Tilly 
vally— tilly vally !" 

More's daughter, Margaret Roper, on the contrary, 
encouraged her father to stand firm in his principles, 
and dutifully consoled and cheered him during his long 
confinement. Deprived of pen and ink, he wrote his let- 
ters to her with a piece of coal, saying in one of them : 
"If I were to declare in writing how much pleasure 
your daughterly, loving letters gave me, a peck of coals 
would not suffice to make the pens." More was a mar- 
tyr to veracity : he would not swear a false oath ; and 
he perished because he was sincere. When his head 
had been struck off, it was placed on London Bridge, in 
accordance with the barbarous practice of the times. 
Margaret Roper had the courage to ask for the head to 

thi'ee daughters, of whom the noble Margaret Roper most resembled 
More himself. His second wife was Alice Middleton, a widow, some 
seven years older than More, not beautiful — for he characterized her 
as ^^ Nee bella, nee puella" — but a shrewd worldly woman, not by 
any means disposed to sacrifice comfort and good cheer for consider- 
ations such as those which so powerfully influenced the mind of her 
husband. 



CHAP. Y.] Fortitude of Luther. 189 

be taken down and given to her, and, carrying her affec- 
tion for her father beyond the grave, she desired that it 
might be buried with her when she died ; and long af- 
ter, when Margaret Roper's tomb was opened, the pre- 
cious relic was observed lying on the dust of what had 
been her bosom. 

Martin Luther was not called upon to lay down his 
life for his faith ; but, from the day that he declared 
himself against the pope he daily ran the risk of losing 
it. At the beginning of his great struggle he stood al- 
most entirely alone. The odds against him were tre- 
mendous. " On one side," said he himself, " are learn- 
ing, genius, numbers, grandeur, rank, power, sanctity, 
miracles; on the other Wycliffe, Lorenzo Valla, Au- 
gustine, and Luther — a poor creature, a man of yes- 
terday, standing well-nigh alone with a few friends." 
Summoned by the emperor to appear at Worms, to an- 
swer the charge made against him of heresy, he deter- 
mined to answer in person. Those about him told him 
that he would lose his life if he went, and they urged 
him to fly. "Xo," said he, "I will repair thither, 
though I should find there thrice as many devils as 
there are tiles upon the house-tops !" Warned against 
the bitter enmity of a certain Duke George, he said, " I 
will go there, though for nine whole days running it 
rained Duke Georges !" 

Luther was as good as his word, and he set forth 
upon his perilous journey. When he came in sight of 
the old bell-towers of Worms, he stood up in his chariot 
and sang, ^^Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott "—the " Mar- 
seillaise " of the Reformation — the words and music of 
Avhich he is said to have improvised only two days be- 
fore. Shortly before the meeting of the Diet, an old 
soldier, George Freundesberg, put his hand upon Lu- 
ther's shoulder, and said to him : " Good monk, good 
monk, take heed what thou doest ; thou art going into 



140 Luther hefore the Diet. [chap. v. 

a harder fight than any of us have ever yet been in. 
But Luther's only answer to the veteran was, that he 
had "determined to stand upon the Bible and his con- 
science." 

Luther's courageous defense before the Diet is on rec- 
ord, and forms one of the most glorious pages in his- 
tory. When finally urged by the emperor to retract, he 
said, firmly : " Sire, unless I am convinced of my error 
by the testimony of Scripture, or by manifest evidence, 
I can not and will not retract, for we must never act 
contrary to our conscience. Such is my profession of 
faith, and you must expect none other from me. Hier 
stehe ich : Ich kann nicht cinders: Gott helfe mirP'' 
(Here stand I: I can not do otherwise: God help me!) 
He had to do his duty — to obey the orders of a Power 
higher than that of kings ; and he did it at all hazards. 

Afterwards, when hard pressed by his enemies at 
Augsburg, Luther said that, "if he had five hundred 
heads, he would lose them all rather than recant his ar- 
ticle concerning faith." Like all courageous men, his 
strength only seemed to grow in proportion to the diffi- 
culties he had to encounter and overcome. "There is 
no man in Germany," said Hutten, " who more utterly 
despises death than does Luther." And to his moral 
courage, perhaps more than to that of any other single 
man, do we owe the liberation of modern thought, and 
the vindication of the great rights of the human under- 
standing. 

The honorable and brave man does not fear death 
compared with ignominy. It is said of the royalist 
Earl of Strafford that, as he walked to the scaffold on 
Tower Hill, his step and manner were those of a gen- 
eral marching at the head of an army to secure victory, 
rather than of a condemned man to undergo sentence 
of death. So the Commonwealth's man, Sir John Eliot, 
went alike bravely to his death on the same spot, say- 



CHAP. Y.] Success luoii through Failui^e. 141 

ing: "Ten thousand deaths rather than defile my con- 
science, the chastity and jDurity of which I value beyond 
all this world." Eliot's greatest tribulation was on ac- 
count of his wife, whom he had to leave behind. When 
he saw her looking down upon him from the Tower w^in- 
dow, he stood up in the cart, waved his hat, and cried : 
" To heaven, my love ! — to heaven ! — and leave you in 
the storm !" As he went on his way, one in -the crowd 
called out, " That is the most glorious seat you ever sat 
on ;" to which he replied, " It is so, indeed !" and re- 
joiced exceedingly.* 

Although success is the guerdon for which all men 
toil, they have nevertheless often to labor on persever- 
ingly, without any glimmer of success in sight. They 
have to live, meanwhile, upon their courage — - sowing 
their seed, it may be, in the dark, in the hope that it 
Avill yet take root and spring up in achieved result. 
The best of causes have had to fight their way to tri- 
umph through a long succession of failures, and many 
of the assailants have died in the breach before the for- 
tress has been won. The heroism they have displayed 
is to be measured not so much by their immediate suc- 
cess, as by the opposition they have encountered, and the 
courage with which they have maintained the struggle. 

The patriot Avho fights an always-losing battle — the 
martyr who goes to death amidst the triumphant shouts 
of his enemies — the discoverer, like Columbus, whose 
heart remains undaunted through the bitter years of his 
"long wandering woe" — are examples of the moral sub-, 
hme which oxcite a profounder interest in the hearts of 

* Before being beheaded, Eliot said, " Death is but a little word ; 
but ' 'tis a great work to die.'" In his "Prison Thoughts " before his 

execution, he wrote : " He that fears not to die, fears nothing 

There is a time to live, and a time to die. A good death is far better 
and more eligible than an ill life. A wise man lives but so long as 
his life is worth more than his death. The longer life is not always 
the better." 



142 Common Courage. [chap. v. 

men than even the most com23lete and conspicuous suc- 
cess. By the side of such instances as these, how small 
by comparison seem the greatest deeds of valor, incit- 
ing men to rush upon death and die amidst tha frenzied 
excitement of physical warfare ! 

But the greater part of the courage that is needed in 
the world is not of a heroic kind. Courage may be dis- 
played in»every-day life as well as in historic fields of 
action. There needs, for example, the common courage 
to be honest — the courage to resist temptation — the 
courage to speak the truth — the courage to be what we 
really are, and not to pretend to be what we are not — 
the courage to live honestly within our own means, and 
not dishonestly upon the means of others. 

A great deal of the unhappiness, and much of the 
vice, of the world is owing to weakness and indecision 
of purpose — in other words, to lack of courage. Men 
may know what is right, and yet fail to exercise the 
courage to do it; they may understand the duty they 
have to do, but will not summon up the requisite reso- 
lution to perform it. The weak and undisciplined man 
is at the mercy of every temptation ; he can not say 
" No," but falls before it. And if his companionship be 
bad, he will be all the easier led away by bad example 
into wrong-doing. 

ISTo thing can be more certain than that the character 
can only be sustained and strengthened by its own en- 
ergetic action. The will, which is the central force of; 
character, must be trained to habits of decision — other-j 
wise it will neither be able to resist evil nor to follow 
good. Decision gives the power of standing firmly,) 
when to yield, however slightly, might be only the first | 
step in a down-hill course to ruin. 

Calling upon others for help in forming a decision is 
worse than useless. A man must so train his habits as 
to rely upon his own powers, and depend upon his own 



CHAP, v.] The Virtue of Self -Help. 143 

_ — • 

courage in moments of emergency. Plutarch tells of a 
King of Macedon who, in the midst of an action, with- 
drew into the adjoining town under pretense»of sacri- 
ficing to Hercules ; while his opponent Emilius, at the 
same time that he implored the Divine aid, sought for 
victory sword in hand, and won the battle. And so it 
ever is in the actions of daily life. 

Many are the valiant purposes formed, that end mere- 
ly in words; deeds intended, that are ne\^r done; de- 
signs projected, that are never begun ; and all for want 
of a little courageous decision. Better far the silent 
tongue but the eloquent deed. For in life and in busi- 
ness, dispatch is better than discourse ; and the shortest 
answer of all is, Doing. " In matters of great concern, 
and which must be done," says Tillotson, "there is no 
surer argument of a weak mind than irresolution — to be 
undetermined when the case is so plain and the neces- 
sity so urgent. To be always intending to live a new 
life, but never to find time to set about it — this is as if 
a man should put off eating and drinking and sleeping 
from one day to another, until he is starved and de- 
stroyed." 

There needs also the exercise of no small degree of 
moral courage to resist the corrupting influences of 
what is called " Society." Although " Mrs. Grundy " 
may be a very vulgar and commonplace personage, her 
influence is nevertheless prodigious. Most men, but 
especially women, are the moral slaves of the class or 
caste to which they belong. There is a sort of uncon- 
scious conspiracy existing among them against each oth- 
er's individuality. Each circle and section, each rank 
and class, has its respective customs and observances, to 
which conformity is required at the risk of being ta- 
booed. Some are immured within a bastile of fashion, 
others of custom, others of opinion ; and few there are 
who have the courage to think outside their sect, to act 



IM Despotism of Fashion. [chap. v. 

outside their party, and to step out into the free air of 
individual thought and action. We dress, and eat, and 
follow fashion, though it may be at the risk of debt, 
ruin, and misery ; living not so much according to our 
means as according to the superstitious observances of 
our class. Though we may speak contemptuously of 
the Indians who flatten their heads, and of the Chinese 
who cramp their toes, we have only to look at the de- 
formities of fashion among ourselves, to see that the 
reign of " Mrs. Grundy " is universal. 

But moral cowardice is exhibited quite as much in 
public as in private life. Snobbism is not confined to 
the toadying of the rich, but is quite as often displayed 
in the toadying of the poor. Formerly, sycophancy 
showed itself in not daring to speak the truth to those 
in high places ; but in these days it rather shows itself 
in not daring to speak the truth to those in low places. 
Now that "the masses"* exercise political power, there 
is a growing tendency to fawn upon them, to flatter 
them, and to speak nothing but smooth words to them. 
They are credited with virtues which they themselves 
know they do not possess. The public enunciation of 
wholesome, because disagreeable, truths is avoided; and, 
to win their favor, sympathy is often pretended for 

* Mr. J. S. Mill, in his book "On Liberty," describes " the masses" 
as "collective mediocrity," "The initiation of all wise or noble 
things," he says, " comes, and must come, from individuals — gener- 
ally at first from some one individual. The honor and glory of the 
average man is, that he is capable of following that imitation ; that he 
can respond internally to wise and noble things, and be led to them 
with his eyes open. ... In this age, the mere example of non-con- 
formity, the mere refusal to bend the knee to custom, is itself a serv- 
ice. Precisely because the tyranny of opinion is sucli as to make ec- 
centricity a reproach, it is desirable, in order to break through that 
tyranny, that people should be eccentric. Eccentricity has alwdj's 
abounded when and where strength of character has abounded ; and 
the amount of eccentricity in a society has generally been proportional 
to the amount of genius, mental vigor, and moral courage which it 
contained. That so few now dare to be eccentric, marks the chief 
danger of the time."— Pp. 120, 121. 



CHAP. Y.] Pandering to Pojndarity. 145 

views, the carrying out of which in practice is known 
to be hopeless. 

It is not the man of the noblest character — the high- 
est-cultured and best-conditioned man — whose favor is 
now sought, so much as that of the lowest man, the 
least-cultured and worst-conditioned man, because his 
vote is usually that of the majority. Even men of 
rank, wealth, and education are seen prostrating them- 
selves before the ignorant, whose votes are thus to be 
got. They are ready to be unprincipled and unjust 
rather than unpopular. It is so much easier for some 
men to stoop, to bow, and to flatter, than to be manly, 
resolute, and magnanimous ; and to yield to prejudices, 
than run counter to them. It requires strength and t 
courage to swim against the stream, while any dead fish { 
can float with it. 

This servile pandering to popularity has been rapidly 
on the increase of late years, and its tendency has been 
to lower and degrade the character of public men. 
Consciences have become more elastic. There is now 
one opinion for the chamber and another for the plat- 
form. Prejudices are pandered to in public which in 
private are despised. Pretended conversions — which 
invariably jump with party interests — are more sudden ; / 
and even hypocrisy now appears to be scarcely thought ^- 
discreditable. 

The same moral cowardice extends downward as well 
as upward. The action and reaction are equal. Hy- 
pocrisy and time-serving above are accompanied by hy- 
pocrisy and time-serving below. Where men of high 
standing have not the courage of their opinions, what 
is to be expected from men of low standing? They 
will only follow such examples as are set before them. 
They too will skulk, and dodge, and prevaricate — be 
ready to speak one way and act another — just like their 
betters. Give them but a sealed box, or some hole and / 

G 



146 Moral Cowardice. [chap. v. 

corner to hide their act in, and they will then enjoy their 
"liberty!" 

Popularity, as won in these days, is by no means a 
presumption in a man's favor, but is quite as often a 
presumption against him. "ISTo man," says the Russian 
proverb, " can rise to honor who is cursed with a stiff 
backbone." But the backbone of the popularity-hunter 
is of gristle ; and he has no difSculty in stooping and 
bending himself in any direction to catch the breath of 
popular applause. 

Where popularity is won by fawning upon the peo- 
ple, by withholding the truth from them, by writing and 
speaking down to the lowest tastes, and, still worse, by 
appeals to class-hatred,''' such a popularity must be sim- 

* Mr. Arthur Helps, in one of his thoughtful books, published in 
1845, made some observations on this point, which are not less appli- 
cable now. He there said: "It is a grievous thing to see literature 
made a vehicle for encouraging the enmity of class to class. Yet this, 
unhappily, is not unfrequent now. Some great man summed up the 
nature of French novels by calling them the Literature of Despair ; 
the kind of writing that I deprecate may be called the Literature of 
Envy. . . . Such writers like to throw their influence, as they might 
say, into the weaker scale. But that is not the proper way of looking 
at the m^atter. I think, if they saw the ungenerous nature of their 
proceedings, that alone would stop them. They should recollect that 
literature may fawn upon the masses as well as the aristocracy ; and 
in these days the temptation is in the former direction. But what is 
most grievous in this kind of writing is the mischief it may do to the 
working-people themselves. If you have their true welfare at heart, 
you will not only care for their being fed and clothed, but you will be 
anxious not to encourage unreasonable expectations in them — not to 
make them ungrateful or greedy-minded. Above all, you will be so- 
licitous to preserve some self-reliance in them. You will be careful 
not to let them think that their condition can be wholly changed with- 
out exertion of their own. You would not desire to have it so 
changed. Once elevate your ideal of what you wish to happen 
among the laboring population, and you will not easily admit any 
thing in your writings that may injure their moral or their mental 
character, even if you thought it might hasten some physical benefit 
for them. That is the way to make your genius most serviceable to 
mankind. Depend upon it, honest and bold things require to be said 
\ to the lower as well as the higher classes ; and the former are in these 
times much less likely to have such things addressed to them." — 
Clair.is of Labor, pp. 253, 254, 



CHAP. Y.] Courage to he Unpopular. 147 

ply contemptible in the sight of all honest men. Jere- 
my Bentham, speaking of a well-known public character, 
said : " His creed of politics results less from love of the 
many than from hatred of the few ; it is too much un- 
der the influence of selfish and dissocial affection." To 
how many men in our own day might not the same de- 
scription apply? 

Men of sterling character have the courage to speak 
the truth, even when it is unpopular. It was said of 
Colonel Hutchinson by his wife, that he never sought 
after popular applause, or prided' himself on it : " He 
more delighted to do well than to be praised, and never 
set vulgar commendations at such a rate as to act con- 
trary to his own conscience or reason for the obtaining 
them; nor Avould he forbear a good action which he 
was bound to, though all the world disliked it ; for he 
ever looked on things as they were in themselves, not 
through the dim spectacles of vulgar estimation.""^ 

" Popularity, in the lowest and most common sense," 
said Sir John Pakington, on a recent occasion,f " is not 



* "Memoirs of Colonel Hutchinson" (Bohn's ed,), p. 32. 

t At a public meeting held at Worcester, in 1867, in recognition 
of Sir J. Pakington's services as chairman of Quarter Sessions for a 
period of twenty-four years, the following remarks, made by Sir John 
on the occasion, are just and valuable as they are modest : "I am in- 
debted for whatever measure of success I have attained in my public 
life to a combination of moderate abilities with honesty of intention, 
firmness of puiiDose, and steadiness of conduct. If I were to offer ad- 
vice to any young man anxious to make himself useful in public life, 
I would sum up the results of my experience in three short rules — 
rules so simple that any man may understand them, and so easy that 
any man may act upon them. My first rule would be — leave it to 
others to judge of what duties you are capable, and for what position 
you are fitted ; but never refuse to give your sendees in whatever ca- 
pacity it may be the opinion of others who are competent to judge 
that you may benefit your neighbors or your country. My second 
rule is — when you agree to undertake public duties, concentrate every 
energ}'- and faculty in your possession with the determination to dis- 
charge those duties to the best of your ability. Lastly, I would coun- 
sel you that, in deciding on the line which you wdll take in public af- 
fairs, you shoidd be guided in your decision by that v/hich, after ma- 



148 Intellectual Intrepidity. [chap. v. 

worth the having. Do your duty to the best of your 
power, win the approbation of your own conscience, 
and popularity, in its best and highest sense, is sure to 
follow." 

When Richard Lovell Edgeworth, towards the close 
of his life, became very popular in his neighborhood, he 
said one day to his daughter : " Maria, I am growing 
dreadfully popular ; I shall be good for nothing soon ; 
a man can not be good for any thing who is very popu- 
lar." Probably he had in his mind at the time the Gos- 
pel curse of the popular man, " Woe UDto you, when all 
men shall speak well of you ! for so did their fathers to 
the false prophets." 

Intellectual intrepidity is one of the vital conditions 
-.of independence and self-reliance of character. A man 
must have the courage to be himself;, and not the shad- 
ow or the echo of another. He must exercise his own 
powers, think his own thoughts, and speak his own sen- 
timents. He must elaborate his own opinions, and form 
his own convictions. It has been said that he who dare 
not form an opinion must be a coward; he who will 
not, must be an idler ; he who can not, must be a fool. 

But it is precisely in this element of intrepidity that 
so many persons of promise fall short, and disappoint 
the expectations of their friends. They march up to 
the scene of action, but at every step their courage 
oozes out. They want the requisite decision, courage, 
and perseverance. They calculate the risks and weigh 
the chances, until the opportunity for effective effort 
has passed, it may be, never to return. 

Men are bound to speak the truth in the love of it. 
" I had rather suffer," said John Pym, the Common- 
w^ealth man, '' for speaking the truth, than that the truth 
should suffer for want of my speaking." When a man's 

ture delibei'.ation, you believe to be right, and not by that which, in 
the passing hour, may happen to be fashionable or popular." 



CHAP, v.] Energetic Courage. 149 

convictions are honestly formed, after fair and full con- 
sideration, he is justified in striving by all fair means to 
bring them into action. There are certain states of so- 
ciety and conditions of affairs in which a man is bound 
to speak out and be antagonistic — when conformity is 
not only a weakness, but a sin. Great evils are in some 
cases only to be met by resistance; they can not be 
wept down, but must be battled down. 

The honest man is naturally antagonistic to fraud, the 
truthful man to lying, the justice-loving man to oppres- 
sion, the pure-minded man to vice and iniquity. They 
have to do battle with these conditions, and, if possible, 
overcome them. Such men have in all ages represented 
the moral force of the world. Inspired by benevolence 
and sustained by courage, they have been the main-stays 
of all social renovation and progress. But for their con- 
tinuous antagonism to evil conditions, the world were 
for the most jDart given over to the dominion of selfish- 
ness and vice. All the great reformers and martyrs 
Avere antagonistic men — enemies to falsehood and evil- 
doing. The Apostles themselves were an organized 
band of social antagonists, who contended with pride, 
selfishness, superstition, and irreligion. And in our own 
time the lives of such men as Clarkson and Granville 
Sharpe, Father Mathew and Richard Cobden, inspired 
by singleness of purpose, have shown what high-minded 
social antagonism can effect. 

It is the strong and courageous men who lead and 
guide and rule the world. The weak and timid leave 
no trace behind them ; while the life of a single upright 
and energetic man is like a track of light. His example 
is remembered and appealed to ; and his thoughts, his 
spirit, and his courage continue to be the inspiration of 
succeeding generations. 

It is energy — the central clement of which is will — 
that produces the miracles of enthusiasm in all ages. 



150 Energy and Perseverance. [chap. y. 

Everywhere it is the mainspriDg of what is called force 
of character, and the sustainiog power of all great ac- 
tion. In a righteous cause the determined man stands 
upon his courage as upon a granite block ; and, like Da- 
vid, he will go forth to meet Goliath, strong in heart 
though a host be encamped against him. 

Men often conquer difficulties because they feel they 
can. Their confidence in themselves aspires the confi- 
dence of others. When Caesar was at sea, and a storm 
began to rage, the captain of the ship which carried 
him became unmanned by fear. "What art thou afraid 
of ?" cried the great captain ; " thy vessel carries Cae- 
sar !" The courage of the brave man is contagious, and 
carries others along with it. His stronger nature awes 
weaker natures into silence, or inspires them with his 
own will and purpose. 

The persistent man will not be baffled or repulsed by 
opposition. Diogenes, desirous of becoming the disciple 
of Antisthenes, went and offered himself to the cynic. 
He was refused. Diogenes still persisting, the cynic 
raised his knotty staff, and threatened to strike him if 
he did not depart. " Strike !" said Diogenes ; " you 
will not find a stick hard enough to conquer my perse- 
verance." Antisthenes, overcome, had not another word 
to say, but forthwith accepted him as his pupil. 

Energy of temperament, with a moderate degree of 
wisdom, will carry a man farther than any amount of 
intellect without it. Energy makes the man of practical 
ability. It gives him vis, force, momentum. It is the 
active motive power of character ; and, if combined with 
sagacity and self-possession, will enable a man to employ 
his powers to the best advantage in all the affairs of life. 

Hence it is that, inspired by energy of purpose, men 

of comparatively mediocre powers have often been en- 

l_ ablcd to accomplish such extraordinary results. For the 

men who have most powerfully influenced the world 



CIIAP. v.] Courage and Tenderness. 151 

have not been so much men of genius as men of strong 
convictions and enduring capacity for work, impelled by 
irresistible energy and invincible determination : such 
men, for example, as were Mohammed, Luther, Knox, 
Calvin, Loyola, and Wesley. 

Courage, combined with energy and perseverance, 
will overcome difficulties apparently insurmountable. 
It gives force and impulse to effort, and does not per- 
mit it to retreat. Tyndall said of Farada}-, that " in his 
warm moments he formed a resolution, and in his cool 
ones he made that resolution good." Perseverance, 
working in the riglit direction, grows with time, and 
when steadily practised, even by the most humble, will 
rarely fail of its reward. Trusting in the help of others 
is of comparatively little use. When one of Michael 
Angelo's principal patrons died, he said : " I begin to 
understand that the pro'mises of the world are for the 
most part vain phantoms, and that to confide in one's 
self, and become something of vrorth and value, is the 
best and safest course." 

Courage is by no means incompatible with tenderness. 
On the contrary, gentleness and tenderness have been 
found to characterize the men, not less than the women, 
who have done the most courageous deeds. Sir Charles 
Xapier gave up sporting because he could not bear to 
hurt dumb creatures. The same gentleness and tender- 
ness characterized his brother. Sir William, the historian 
of the Peninsular Wai-.* Such, also, was the character 

* The following illustration of one of his minute acts of kindness is 
given in his biography: "He Avas one day taking a long country 
walk near Freshford, when he met a little girl, about five years old, 
sobbing over a broken bowl ; she had dropped and broken it in bring- 
ing it back from the field to which she had taken her father's dinner 
in it, and she said she would be beaten, on her return home, for having 
broken it ; when, with a sudden gleam of hope, she innocently looked 
up into his face, and said, ' But yee can mend it, can't ee ?' 

"]\Iy father explained that he could not mend the bowl, but the 
trouble he could by the gift of a sixpence to buy another. However, 



152 Generosity of the Brave. [chap. v. 

of Sir James Outram, pronounced by Sir Charles ISTapier 
to be " the Bayard of India, sans peur et sans reproche " 
— one of the bravest and yet gentlest of men ; respect- 
ful and reverent to women, tender to children, helpful of 
the weak, stern to the corrupt, but kindly as summer to 
the honest and deserving. Moreover, he was himself as 
honest as day, and as pure as virtue. Of him it might 
be said with truth, what Fulke Greville said of Sidney : 
" He was a true model of worth — a man fit for conquest, 
reformation, plantation, or what action soever is the 
greatest and hardest among men ; his chief ends withal 
being, above all things, the good of his fellows, and the 
service of his sovereign and country." 

When Edward the Black Prince won the battle of 
Poictiers, in which he took prisoner the French king 
and his son, he entertained them in the evening at a 
banquet, when he insisted on waiting upon and serving 
them at table. The gallant prince's knightly courtesy 
and demeanor won the hearts of his captives as com- 
pletely as his valor had won their persons ; for, notwith- 
standing his youth, Edward was a true knight, the first 
and bravest of his time — a noble pattern and example 
of chivalry ; his two mottoes, " Hochmuth " and " Ich 
dien " (high spirit and reverent service), not inaptly ex- 
pressing his prominent and pervading qualities. 

on opening his purse it was empty of silver, and he had to make 
amends by promising to meet his little friend in the same spot at the 
same hour next day, and to bring the sixpence with him, bidding her, 
meanwhile, tell her mother she had seen a gentleman who Avould 
bring her the money for the bowl next day. The child, entirely 
trusting him, went on her way comforted. On his return home he 
found an invitation awaiting him to dine in Bath the following even- 
ing, to meet some one whom he specially wished to see. He hesi- 
tated for some little time, trying to calculate the possibihty of giving 
the meeting to his little friend of the broken bowl and of still being in 
time for the dinner-party in Bath ; but finding this could not be, he 
wrote to decline accepting the invitation on the plea of ' a pre-engage- 
ment,' saying to us, ' I can not disappoint her, she trusted me so im- 
plicitly.' " 



CHAP, v.] Courage and Self-sacrifice. 153 

It is the courageous inan avLo can best afford to be 
generous ; or, rather, it is bis nature to be so. When 
Fairfax, at the battle of !N"aseby, seized the colors from 
an ensign whom he had struck down in the fight, he 
handed them to a common soldier to take care of. The 
soldier, unable to resist the temptation, boasted to his 
comrades that he had himself seized the colors, and the 
boast was rejoeated to Fairfax. " Let him retain the 
honor," said the commander ; " I have enough beside." 

So when Douglas, at the battle of Bannockburn, saw 
Randolph, his rival, outnumbered and apparently over- 
powered by the enemy, he prepared to hasten to his as- 
sistance ; but, seeing that Randolph was already driving 
them back, he cried out, " Hold and halt ! We are come 
too late to aid them ; let us not lessen the victory they 
have won by affecting to claim a share in it." 

Quite as chivalrous, though in a very different field 
of action, was the conduct of Laplace to the young phi- 
losopher Biot, when the latter had read to the French 
Academy his paper, " Sur les Equations aux difference 
3IeleesP The assembled savants, at its close, felicitated 
the reader of the paper on his originality. Monge was 
delighted at his success. Laplace also praised him for 
the clearness of his demonstrations, and invited Biot 
to accompany him home. Arrived there, Laplace took 
from a closet in his study a paper yellow with age, and 
hantled it to the young philosopher. To Biot's surprise, 
he found that it contained the solutions, all worked out, 
for which he had just gained so much applause. With 
rare magnanimity, Laplace Avithheld all knowledge of 
the circumstance from Biot until the latter had ini- 
tiated his reputation before the Academy ; moreover, 
he enjoined him to silence; and the incident would 
liave remained a secret had not Biot himself published 
it, some fifty years afterwards. 

An incident is related of a French artisan, exhibiting 
G2 



154 Magnanimity. [chap. v. 

the same characteristic of self-sacrifice in another form. 
In front of a lofty house in course of erection at Paris 
was the usual scaffold, loaded with men and materials. 
The scaffold, being too weak, suddenly broke down, and 
the men upon it were precipitated to the ground — all 
except two, a young man and a middle-aged one, who 
hung on to a narrow ledge, which trembled under their 
weight, and was evidently on the point of giving way. 
" Pierre," cried the elder of the two, " let go ; I am the 
father of a family." ^^ G^ est juste P"* said Pierre; and, 
instantly letting go his hold, he fell and was killed on 
the spot. The father of the family was saved. 

The brave man is magnanimous as well as gentle. 
He does not take even an enemy at a disadvantage, nor 
strike a man when he is down and unable to defend 
himself. Even in the midst of deadly strife such in- 
stances of generosity have not been uncommon. Thus, 
at the battle of Dettingen, during the heat of the ac- 
tiofl, a squadron of French cavalry charged an English 
regiment ; but when the young French officer who led 
them, and was about to attack the English leader, ob- 
served that he had only one arm, with which he held 
his bridle, the Frenchman saluted him courteously with 
liis sword and passed on.* 

* Miss Florence Nightingale has rehited the folloAving incident as 
having occiuTed before Sebastopol : "I remember a sergeant who, on 
picket, the rest of the picket killed and himself battered about the 
head, stumbled back to camp, and on his Avay picked up a wounded 
man and brought him in on his shoulders to the lines, where he fell 
down insensible. When, after many hours, he recovered his senses, 
I believe after trepanning, his first Avords were to ask after his com- 
rade, ' Is he alive?' ' Comrade, indeed ; yes, he's alive — it is the gen- 
eral.' At that moment the general, though badly wounded, appeared 
at the bedside. ' Oh, general, it's you, is it, I brought in ? I'm so 

glad ; I didn't know your honor. But, , if I'd known it was you, 

I'd have saved you all the same.' This is the true soldier's spirit." 

In the same letter, Miss Nightingale says: "England, from her 
grand mercantile and commercial successes, has been called sordid ; 
God knows she is not. The simple courage, the enduring patience, 
the good sense, the strength to suffer in silence — what nation shows 



CHAP, v.] The Magnanimous Man. 155 

It is related of Charles Y. that, after the siege and 
capture of Wittenburg by the ImjDerialist array, the 
raoDarch went to see the tomb of Luther. While read- 
ing the inscription on it, one of the servile courtiers 
who accompanied him proposed to open the grave and 
give the ashes of the "heretic" to the winds. The 
monarch's cheek flushed with honest indignation: "I 
war not with the dead," said' he ; " let this place be re- 
spected." 

The portrait which the great heathen, Aristotle, drew 
of the Magnanimous Man, in other words, the True Gen- 
tleman, more than two thousand years ago, is as faithful 
now as it was then. " The magnanimous man," he said, 
" will behave with moderation under both good fortune 
and bad. He will know how to be exalted and how to 
be abased. He will neither be delighted with success 
nor grieved by failure. He will neither shun danger 
nor seek it, for there are few things which he cares for. 
He is reticent, and somewhat slow of speech, but speaks 
his mind openly and boldly when occasion calls for it. 
He is apt to admire, for nothing is great to him. He 
overlooks injuries. He is not given to talk about him- 
self or about others ; for he does not care that he him- 
self should be praised, or that other people should be 
blamed. He does not cry out about trifles, and craves 
help from none." 

On the other hand, mean men admire meanly. They 

move of this in ^-ar than is sho^yn hy her commonest soldier ? I have 
seen men dying of dysentery, but, scoraing to report themselves sick 
lest they should thereby throw more labor on their comrades, go 
down to the trenches and make the trenches their death-bed. Ttere 
is nothing in history to compare with it. , . . Say what men will, 
there is something more truly Christian in the man who gives his 
time, his strength, his life, if need be, for something not himself — 
whether he call it his queen, his country, or his colors — than in all the 
asceticism, the fasts, the humiliations and confessions which have ever 
been made ; and this spirit of giving one's life, without calling it a 
sacrifice, is found nowhere so tinily as in England." 



156 Fear to be Avoided. [chap. v. 

have neither modesty, generosity, nor magnanimity. 
They are ready to take advantage of the weakness or 
defenselessness of others, especially where they have 
themselves succeeded, by unscrupulous methods, in 
climbing to positions of authority. Snobs in higli 
places are always much less tolerable than snobs of low 
degree, because they have more frequent opportunities 
of making their want of manliness felt. They assume 
greater airs, and are pretentious in all that they do; 
and the higher their elevation, the more conspicuous is 
the incongruity of their position. " The higher the 
monkey climbs," says the proverb, "the more he shows 
his tail." 

Much depends on the way in which a thing is done. 
An act which might be taken as a kindness if done in 
a generous spirit, when done in a grudging spirit may 
be felt as stingy, if not harsh and even cruel. When 
Ben Johnson lay sick and in poverty, the king sent him 
a paltry message, accompanied by a gratuity. The 
sturdy, plain-spoken poet's reply was : " I suppose he 
^ sends me this because I live in an alley; tell him his 
soul lives in an alley." 

From what we have said, it will be obvious that to be 
of an enduring and courageous spirit is of great impor- 
tance in the formation of character. It is a source not 
only of usefulness in life, but of happiness. On the 
other hand, to be of a timid and, still more, of a cow- 
ardly nature, is one of the greatest misfortunes. A wise 
man was accustomed to say that one of the principal ob- 
jects he aimed at in the education of his sons and daugh- 
^ ters was to train them in the habit of fearing nothing so 
much as fear. And the habit of avoiding fear is, doubt- 
less, capable of being trained like any other habit, such 
as the habit of attention, of diligence, of study, or of 
cheerfulness. 

Much of the fear that exists is the offspring of imag- 



CHAP, v.] Courage of Women. 157 

ination, which creates the images of evils which 'may 
happen, but perhaps rarely do ; and thus many persons 
who are capable of summoning uj) courage enough to 
grapple with and overcome real dangers, are paralyzed 
or thrown into consternation by those which are imag- 
inary. Hence, unless the imagination be held- under 
strict discipline, we are prone to meet evils more than 
half-way — to suffer them by forestallment, and to as- 
sume the burdens which we ourselves create. 

Education in courage is not usually included among 
the branches of female training, and yet it is really of 
much greater importance than either music, French, or 
the use of the globes. Contrary to the view of Sir 
Richard Steele, that women should be characterized by 
a " tender fear," and " an inferiority which makes her 
lovely," we would have women educated in resolution 
and courage, as a means of rendering them more help- 
ful, more self-reliant, and vastly more useful and happy. 

There is, indeed, nothing attractive in timidity, noth- 
ing lovable in fear. All weakness, whether of mind or 
body, is equivalent to deformity, and the reverse of in- 
teresting. Courage is graceful and dignified; while 
fear, in any form, is mean and repulsive. Yet the ut- 
most tenderness and gentleness are consistent with cour- 
age. Ary Scheffer, the artist, once wrote to his daugh- 
ter: "Dear daughter, strive to be of good courage, to be 
gentle-hearted ; these are the true Cjualities for woman. 
' Troubles ' every body must expect. There is but one 
way of looking at fate — whatever that be, whether 
blessings or afflictions — to behave with dignity under 
both. We must not lose heart, or it will be the worse 
both for ourselves and for those whom we love. To 
struggle, and again and again to renew the conflict — 
this is life's inheritance."'" 

* [Mrs. Grote's '' Life of Ary Scheifer," pp. 15-i, 155. 



158 Moral Strength of Woynen. [chap. v. 

In sickness and sorrow none are braver and less com- 
plaining sufferers than women. Their courage, where 
their hearts are concerned, is indeed proverbial : 

"Oh! femmes c'est a tort qu'on vous nommes timides, 
A la Yoix de vos coeurs vous etes intrepides. " 

Experience has proved that women can be as enduring 
as men under the heaviest trials and calamities; but 
too little pains are taken to teach them to endure petty 
terrors and frivolous vexations with fortitude. Such 
little miseries, if petted and indulged, quickly run into 
sickly sensibility, and become the bane of their life, 
keeping themselves and those about them in a state of 
chronic discomfort. 

The best corrective of this condition of mind is whole- 
some moral and mental discipline. Mental strength is 
as necessary for the development of woman's character 
as of man's. It gives her capacity to deal with the af- 
fairs of life, and presence of mind, which enable her to 
act with vigor and effect in moments of emergency. 
Character in a woman, as in a man, will always be 
found the best safeguard of virtue, the best nurse of 
religion, the best corrective of Time. Personal beauty 
soon passes ; but beauty of mind and character increases 
in attractiveness the older it grows. 

Ben Jonson gives a striking portraiture of a noble 
woman in these lines : 

"I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, 
Free from that solemn vice of greatness, pride ; 
I meant each softed virtue there should meet, 

Fit in that softer bosom to abide. 
Only a learned and a manly soul 

I purposed her, that should A^dth even powers 
* The rock, the spindle and the shears control 
Of destiny, and spin her own free hours." 

The courage of woman is not the less true because it 
is for the most part passive. It is not encouraged by 



CHAP, v.] Heroism of ^Yomen. 159 

the cheers of the world, for it is mostly exhibited in the 
quiet recesses of private life. Yet there are cases of 
heroic patience and endurance on the part of Avomen 
Avhich occasionally come to the light of day. One of 
the most celebrated instances in history is that of Ger- 
trude Von der Wart. Her husband, falsely accused of 
being an accomplice in the murder of the Emperor Al- 
bert, was condemned to the most frightful of all pun- 
ishments — to be broken alive on the wheel. With the 
most profound conviction of her husband's innocence, 
the faithful woman stood by his side to the last, watch- 
ing over him during two days and nights, braving the 
empress's anger and the inclemency of the weather, in 
the hope of contributing to soothe his dying agonies.* 

But women have not only distinguished themselves 
for their passive courage : impelled by affection, or the 
sense of duty, they have occasionally become heroic. 
When the band of conspirators who sought the life of 
James II. of Scotland burst into his lodgings at Perth, 
the king called to the ladies, who were in the chamber 
outside his room, to keep the door as well as they could, 
and give him time to escape. The conspirators had pre- 
viously destroyed the locks of the' doors, so that the 
keys could not be turned ; and when they reached the la- 
dies' apartment, it was found that the bar also had been 
removed. But, on -hearing them approach, the brave 
Catherine Douglas, with the hereditary courage of her 
family, boldly thrust her arm across the door instead of /^ 
the bar, and held it there until, her arm being broken, ^ 
the conspirators burst \\)Xo the room Avith drawn swords 



* The siitfenngs of this noble -woman, together with those of her 
unfortunate husband, were touchingly described in a letter afterwards 
addressed by her to a female friend, which was published some years 
ago at Haarlem, entitled "Gertrude von der Wart; or, Fidelity unto 
Death." Mrs. Hemans wrote a poem of great pathos and beauty, 
commemorating the sad story in her " Records of Woman." 



160 Lady Franklin. [chap. v. 

and daggers, overthrowing the ladies, who, though, un- 
armed, still endeavored to resist them. 

The defense of Lathom House by Charlotte de Tre- 
raouille, the Avorthy descendant of William of Nassau 
and Admiral Coligny, was another striking instance of 
heroic bravery on the part of a noble woman. When 
summoned by the Parliamentary forces to surrender, 
she declared that she had been intrusted by her hus- 
band with the defense of the house, and that she could 
not give it up without her dear lord's orders, but trust- 
ed in God for protection and deliverance. In her ar- 
rangements for the defense, she is described as having 
" left nothing with her eye to be excused afterwards by 
fortune or negligence, and added to her former patience 
a most resolved fortitude." The brave lady held her 
house and home good against the enemy for a whole 
year — during three months of w^hich the place was 
strictly besieged and bombarded — until at length the 
siege was raised, after a most gallant defense, by the 
advance of the Royalist army. 

N"or can we forget the courage of Lady Franklin, who 
persevered to the last, when the hopes of all others had 
died out, in prosecuting the search after the Franklin 
Expedition. On the occasion of the Royal Geograph- 
ical Society determining to award the " Founder's Med- 
al" to Lady Franklin, Sir Roderick Murchison observed 
that, in the course of a long friendship w^ith her, he had 
abundant opportunities of observing and testing the ster- 
ling qualities of a woman who had proved herself wor- 
thy of the admiration of mankind. " Nothing daunt- 
ed by failure after failure, through twelve long years of 
hope deferred, she had persevered, with a singleness of 
purpose a;Tid a sincere devotion which were truly unpar- 
alleled. And now that her one last expedition of the 
Fox^ under the gallant M'Clintock, had realized the two 
great facts — that her husband had traversed wide seas 



CHAP, v.] Women Philanthropists. 161 

unknown to former navigators, and died in discovering 
a north-west passage — then, surely, the adjudication of 
the medal would be hailed by the nation as one of the 
many recompenses to which the widow of the illustrious 
Franklin was so eminently entitled." 

But that devotion to duty which marks the heroic 
cliaracter has more often been exhibited by women in 
deeds of charity and mercy. The greater part of these 
are never known, for they are done in private, out of 
the public sight, and for the mere love of doing good. 
Where fame has come to them, because of the success 
which has attended their labors in a more general 
sphere, it has come unsought and unexpected, and is oft- 
en felt as a burden. Who has not heard of Mrs. Fry 
and Miss Carpenter as prison-visitors and reformers ; 
of Mrs. Chisholni and Miss Rye as promoters of emi- 
gration ; and of Miss Nightingale and Miss Garrett as 
apostles of hospital nursing ? 

That these women should have emerged from the 
sphere of prrvate and domestic life to become leaders in 
philanthropy, indicates no small degree of moral cour- 
age on their part ; for to women, above all others, quiet 
and ease and retirement are most natural and welcome. 
Very few women step beyond the boundaries of home 
in search of a larger field of usefulness. But when they 
have desired one, they have had no difficulty in finding 
it. The ways in jvhich men and women can help their 
neighbors are innumerable. It needs but the willing 
lieart and ready hand. Most of the philanthropic work- 
ers w^e have named, however, have scarcely been influ- 
enced by choice. The duty lay in their way — it seemed 
to be the nearest to them — and they set about doing it 
Avithout desire for fame, or any other reward but the ap- 
proval of their own conscience. 

Among prison-visitors, the name of Sarah Martin is 
much less known than that of Mrs. Fry, although she 



162 • Story of Sarah Martin. [CHAP. V. 

preceded her in the work. How she was led to under- 
take it, furnishes at the same time an illustration of 
womanly true-heartedness and earnest womanly courage. 

Sarah Martin was the daughter of poor parents, and 
was left an orphan at an early age. She was brought 
up by her grandmother, at Caistor,near Yarmouth, and 
earned her living by going out to families as assistant- 
dress-maker, at a shilling a day. In 1819, a woman was 
tried and sentenced to imprisonment in Yarmouth Jail, 
for cruelly beating and ill-using her child, and her crime 
became the talk of the town. The young dress-maker 
was much impressed by the ;'eport of the trial, and the 
desire entered her mind of visiting the woman in jail 
and trying to reclaim her. She had often before, on 
passing the walls of the borough jail, felt impelled to 
seek admission, with the object of visiting the inmates, 
reading the Scriptures to them, and endeavoring to lead 
them back to the society whose laws they had violated. 

At length she could not resist her impulse to visit the 
imprisoned mother. She entered the jail-porch, lifted 
the knocker, and asked the jailer for admission. For 
some reason or other she was refused ; but she returned, 
repeated her request, and this time she was admitted. 
The culprit mother shortly stood before her. When 
Sarah Martin told the motive of her visit, the criminal 
burst into tears, and thanked her. Those tears and 
thanks shaped the Avhole course of Sarah Martin's after- 
life ; and the poor seamstress, while maintaining herself 
by her needle, continued to spend her leisure hours in 
visiting the prisoners and endeavoring to alleviate their 
condition. She constituted herself their chaplain and 
school-mistress, for at that time they had neither; she 
read to tkem from the Scriptures, and taught them to 
read and write. She gave up an entire day in the week 
for this purpose, besides Sundays, as well as other inter- 
vals of spare time, "feeling," she says, " that the blessing 
of God was upon her." She taught the women to knit, 



CHAP. Y.] StoTTj of Sarah Martin. 103 

to sew, and to cut out — the sale of the articles enabling 
her to buy other materials, and to continue the indus- 
trial education thus begun. She also taught the men 
to make straw hats, men's and boys' cajDS, gray cotton 
shirts, and even patchwork — any thing to keep them oat 
of idleness, and from preying on their own thoughts. 
Out of the earnings of the prisoners in this way, she 
formed a fund, which she applied to furnishing them 
with w^ork on their discharge ; thus enabling them again 
to begin the world honestly, and at the same time afford- 
ing her, as she herself says, " the advantage of observ- 
ing their conduct." 

By attending too exclusively to this prison-work, how- 
ever, Sarah Martin's dress-making business fell off ; and 
the question arose with her whether, in order to recover 
her business, she was to suspend her prison-work. But 
her decision had already been made. "I had counted 
the cost," she said, " and my mind was made up. If, 
while imparting truth to others, I became exposed to 
temporal want, the privations so momentary to an in- 
dividual would not admit of comparison with following 
the Lord, in thus administering to others." She now de- 
voted six or seven hours every day to the prisoners, con- 
verting what would otherwise have been a scene of disso- 
lute idleness into a hive of orderly industry. Xewly-ad- 
mitted prisoners were sometimes refractory, but her per- 
sistent gentleness eventually won their respect and co-op- 
eration. Men old in years and crime, pert London pick- 
pockets, depraved boys and dissolute sailors, profligate 
women, smugglers, poachers, and the promiscuous horde 
of criminals which usually fill the jail of a sea-port and 
county town, all submitted to the benign influence of 
this good woman; and under her eyes they might be 
seen, for the first time in their lives, striving to hold a 
pen, or to master the characters in a penny primer. 
She entered into their confidences — w^atched, wept, 
prayed, and felt for all by turns. She strengthened 



164 Story of Sarah Martin. [CHAP. V. 

their good resolutions, cheered the hopeless and despair- 
ing, and endeavored to put all, and hold all, in the right 
road of amendment. 

For more than twenty years this good and ti ue-heart- 
ed woman pursued her noble course, with little encour- 
agement and not much help; almost her only means 
of subsistence consisting in an annual income of ten or 
twelve pounds left by her grandmother, eked out by her 
little earnings at dress-making. During the last two 
years of her ministrations, the borough magistrates of 
Yarmouth, knowing that her self-imj)Osed labors saved 
.them the expense of a school-master and chaplain (which 
they had become bound by law to appoint), made a pro- 
posal to her of an annual salary of £12 a year; but they 
did it in so indelicate a manner as greatly to wound her 
sensitive feelings. She shrank from becoming the sala- 
ried official of the corporation, and bartering for money 
those services w^hich had throughout been labors of 
love. But the Jail Committee coarsely informed her 
" that, if they permitted her to visit the prison, she must 
submit to their terms, or be excluded." For tw^o years, 
therefore, she received the salary of £12 a year — the 
acknow^ledgment of the Yarmouth corporation for her 
services as jail chaplain and school-mistress ! She was 
now, however, becoming old and infirm, and the un- 
healthy atmosphere of the jail did much towards finally 
disabling her. While she lay on her death-bed, she 
resumed the exercise of a talent she had occasionally 
practised before in her moments of leisure — the compo- 
sition of sacred poetry. As works of art, they may not 
excite admiration; yet never were verses written truer 
in spirit, or fuller of Christian love. But her ow^n life 
was a nobler poem than any she ever wrote — full of 
true courage, perseverance, charity, and w-isdom. It 
was indeed a commentary upon her own words : 

"The high desire tliat others may be blest 
Savors of Heaven." 




CHAPTER VI. 

SELF-CONTROL. 

" Honor and profit do not always lie in the same sack." — George 
Herbert. 

" The government of one's self is the only true freedom for the in- 
dividual. " — Frederick Perthes. 

"It is in length of patience, and endurance, and forbearance, that 
so much of what is good in mankind and womankind is shown." — 
Arthur Helps. 

' ' Temperance, proof . 
Against all trials ; industry severe 
And constant as the motion of the day ; 
Stern self-denial round him spread, with shade 
That might be deemed forbidding, did not there 
All generous feelings flourish and rejoice ; 
Forbearance, charity in deed and thought, 
And resolution competent to take 
Out of the bosom of simplicity 
All that her holy customs recommend," — Wordsavorth. 

SELF-CONTROL is only courage under anotlier 
form. It may almost be regarded as the primary 
essence of character. It is in virtue of this quality that 
Shakspeare defines man as a being " looking before and 
after." It forms the chief distinction between man and 
the mere animal ; and, indeed, there can be no true man- 
hood without it. 

Self-control is at the root of all the virtues. Let a 
man give the reins to his impulses and passions, and 
from that moment he yields up his moral freedom. He 
is carried along the current of life, and becomes the 
slave of his strongest desire for the time being. 

To be morally free — to be more than an animal — 
man must be able to resist instinctive impulse, and this 
can only be done by the exercise of self-control. Thus 



166 The Value of Discipline. [chap. vi. 

• 
it is this poAver which constitutes the real distinction 
between a physical and a moral life, and that forms the 
lorimary basis of individual character. 

In the Bible praise is given, not to the strong man 
who "taketh a city," but to the stronger man who "rul- 
eth his own spirit." This stronger man is he who, by 
discipline, exercises a constant control over his thoughts, 
his speech, arid his acts. IsTine-tenths of the vicious 
desires that degrade society, and which, when indulged, 
swell into the crimes that disgrace it, would shrink into 
insignificance before the advance of valiant self-disci- 
pline, self-respect, and self-control. By the watchful ex- 
ercise of these virtues, purity of heart and mind become 
habitual, and the character is built up in chastity, virtue, 
and temperance. 

The best support of character will always be found 
in habit, which, according as the will is directed rightly 
or wrongly, as the case may be, will prove either a be- 
nignant ruler or a cruel despot. We may be its willing 
subject on the one hand, or its servile slave on the oth- 
er. It may help us on the road to good, or it may hur- 
ry us on the road to ruin. 

Habit is formed by careful training. And it is aston- 
ishing how much can be accomplished by systematic 
discipline and drill. See how, for instance, out of the 
most unpromising materials — such as roughs picked up 
in the streets, or raw unkempt country lads taken from 
the plough — steady discipline and drill will bring out 
the imsuspected qualities of courage, endurance, and 
self-sacrifice ; and how, in the field of battle, or even 
on the more trying occasions of perils by sea — such as 
the burning of the Sarah Sands or the wreck of the 
JSirlcejihead — such men, carefully disciplined, will ex- 
hiJbit the unmistakable characteristics of true bravery 
and heroism ! 

Kor is moral discipline and drill less influential in the 



cnAP. vl] Supremacy of Self- Control. 167 

formation of character. Without it, there will be no 
proper system and order in the regulation of the life. 
Upon it depends the cultivation of the sense of self-re- 
spect, the education of the habit of obedience, the de- 
velopment of the idea of duty. The most self-reliant, 
self-governing man is always under discipline ; and the 
more perfect the discipline, the higher will be his moral 
condition. He has to drill his desires, and keep them 
in subjection to the higher powers of his nature. They 
must obey the word of command of the internal moni- 
tor, the conscience — otherwise they wHll be but the 
mere slaves of their inclinations, the sjDort of feeling 
and impulse. 

"In the supremacy of self-control," says Herbert 
Spencer, " consists one of the perfections of the ideal 
man. Not to be impulsive — not to be spurred hither 
and thither by each d.esire that in turn comes upper- 
most—but to be self-restrained, self-balanced, governed 
by the joint decision of the feelings in council assem- 
bled, before whom every action shall have been fully., 
debated and calmly determined — that it is which educa- 
tion, moral education at least, strives to produce.'"^' 

The first seminary of moral discipline, and the best, 
as we have already shown, is the home; next comes 
the school, and after that the world, the great school of 
practical life. Each is preparatory to the other, and 
what the man or w-oman becomes, depends for the most 
part upon what has gone before. If they have enjoyed 
the advantage of neither the home nor the school, but 
have been allowed to grow up untrained, untaught, and 
undisciplined, then w^oe to themselves — vroe to the so- 
ciety of which they form a part ! 

The best-regulated home is always that in which the 
disciphne is the most perfect, and yet where it is the 

" Social Statics, " p. 1 85. 



168 Domestic Discipline. [CHAR VI. 

least felt. Moral discipline acts with the force of a law 
of nature. Those subject to it yield themselves to it 
unconsciously ; and though it shaj)es and forms the 
whole character, until the life becomes crystallized in 
habit, the influence thus exercised is for the most part 
unseen and almost unfelt. 

The importance of strict domestic discipline is cu- 
riously illustrated by a fact mentioned in Mrs. Schim- 
melpenninck's Memoirs, to the following effect : that a 
lady, who, with her husband, had inspected most of the 
lunatic asylums of England and the Continent, found 
Cj the most numerous class of j^atients was almost always 
' composed of those who had been only children, and 
whose wills had, therefore, rarely been thwarted or dis- 
ciplined in early life ; while those who w^ere members 
of large families, and who had been trained in self-dis- 
cipline, were far less frequent victims to the malady. 

Although the moral character depends in a great de- 
gree on temperament and on physical health, as well as 
on domestic and early training and the example of com- 
panions, it is also in the power of each individual to reg- 
ulate, to restrain, and to discipline it by watchful and per- 
severing self-control. A competent teacher has said of 
the propensities and habits, that they are as teachable 
as Latin and Greek, while they are much more essential 
to happiness. 

Dr. Johnson, though himself constitutionally prone 
to melancholy, and afflicted by it as few have been from 
his earliest years, said that " a man's being in a good 
or bad humor very much depends upon his will." We 
may train ourselves in a habit of patience and content- 
ment on the one hand, or of grumbling and discontent 
', on the other. We may accustom ourselves to exag- 
' gerate small evils, and to underestimate great blessings. 
We may even become the victim of petty miseries by 
giving way to them. Thus, we may educate ourselves 



CHAP, yl] Self- Discipline. 169 

in a happy disposition, as well as in a morbid one. In- 
deed, the habit of viewing things cheerfully, and of 
thinking about life hopefully, may be made to grow up 
in us hke any other habit.* It was not an exaggerated ; 
estimate of Dr. Johnson to say, that the habit of looking ; 
at the best side of any event is worth far more than a 
thousand pounds a year. 

The religious man's life is pervaded by rigid self-dis- 
cipline and self-restraint. He is to be sober and vigi- 
lant, to eschew evil and do good, to walk in the Spirit, 
to be obedient unto death, to withstand in the evil day, 
and, having done all, to stand ; to wrestle against spirit- 
ual wickedness, and against the rulers of the darkness of 
this world ; to be rooted and built up in faith, and not 
to be weary of well-doing; for in due season he shall 
reap, if he faint not. 

The man of business, also, must needs be subject to 
strict rule and system. Business, like life, is managed 
by moral leverage; success in both depending in no 
small degree upon that regulation of temper and careful 
self-discipline, which give a wise man not only a com- 
mand over himself, but over others. Forbearance and 
self-control smooth the road of life, and open many Avays 
which would otherwise remain closed. And so does 
self-respect ; for as men respect themselves, so will they 
usually respect the personality of others. 

* " In all cases," says Jeremy Bentham, "when the power of the 
will can be exei-cised over the thoughts, let those thoughts be directed 
towards happiness. Look out for the bright, for the brightest side of 

things, and keep your face constantly turned to it A large 

part of existence is necessarily passed in inaction. By day (to take 
an instance from the thousand in constant occurrence), M^hen in at- 
tendance on others, and time is lost by being kept waiting; by night, 
when sleep is unwilling to close the eyelids, the economy of happi- 
ness recommends the occupation of pleasurable thought. In walk' 
ing abroad, or in resting at home, the mind can not be vacant ; its 
thoughts may be useful, useless, or pernicious to happiness. Direct 
them aright ; the habit of happy thought will spring up like any other 
habit." — Deontology, ii., 105, 106. 

H 



170 The Virtue of Patience. [CHAP. vi. 

It is the same in politics as in business. Success in 
that sphere of life is achieved less by talent than by- 
temper, less by genius than by character. If a man 
have not self-control, he will lack patience, be wanting 
in tact, and have neither the power of governing him- 
self nor of managing others. When the quality most 
needed in a prime minister was the subject of conversa- 
tion in the presence of Mr. Pitt, one of the speakers said 
it was " eloquence ;" another said it was " knowledge ;" 
and a third said it was " toil." " No," said Pitt, " it 
is patience !" And patience means self-control, a quali- 
ty in which he himself was superb. His friend George 
Rose has said of him that he never once saw Pitt out of 
temper,* Yet, although patience is usually regarded as 
a " slow" virtue, Pitt combined with it the most extraor- 
dinary readiness, vigor, and rapidity of thought as well 
as action. 

It is by patience and self-control that the truly heroic 
character is perfected. These were among the most 
prominent characteristics of the great Hampden, whose 
noble qualities were generously acknowledged even by 
his political enemies. Thus Clarendon described him 
as a man of rare temper and modesty, naturally cheerful 

* The following extract from a letter of M. Boyd, Esq., is given by 
Earl Stanhope in his "Miscellanies:" "There was a circumstance 
told me by the late Mr. Christmas, who for many years held an im- 
portant official situation in the Bank of England. He was, I believe, 
in early life a clerk in the treasuiy, or one of the Government offices, 
and for some time acted for Mr. Pitt as his confidential clerk, or tem- 
porary private secretary. Christmas was one of the most obliging 
men I ever knew ; and, from the position he occupied, was constantly 
exposed to interruptions, yet I never saw his temper in the least ruf- 
fled. One day I found him more than usually engaged, having a 
mass of accounts to prepare for one of the law-courts — still the same 
equanimity, and I could not resist the opportunity of asking the old 
gentleman the secret. ' Well, Mr. Boyd, you shall know it. JMr. 
Pitt gave it to me : Not to lose my temper, if possible, at any time, 
and never during the hours of business. My lalDors here (Bank of En- 
gland) commence at nine and end at three ; and, acting on the advice 
of the illustrious statesman, I never lose my temper during those hours.'" 



CHAP, yi.] Character of Hampden. 171 

aod vivacious, and above all, of a flowing courtesy. He 
was kind and intrepid, yet gentle, of unblamable conver- 
sation, and his heart glowed with love to all men. He 
was not a man of many words, but, being of unimpeach- 
able character, every word he uttered carried weight. 

" N"o man had ever a greater power over himself 

He was very temperate in diet, and a supreme governor 
over all his passions and affections ; and he had thereby 
great power over other men's." Sir Philip Warwick, 
another of his political opponents, incidentally describes 
his great influence in a certain debate: "We had catched 
at each other's locks, and sheathed our swords in each 
other's bowels, had not the sagacity and great calmness 
of Mr. Hampden, by a short speech, prevented it, and 
led us to defer our angry debate until the next morn- 
ing." 

A strong temper is not necessarily a bad temper. 
But the stronger the temper, the greater is the need of 
self-discipline and self-control. Dr. Johnson says men 
grow better as they grow older, and improve with expe- 
rience ; but this depends upon the width and depth and 
generousness of their nature. It is not men's faults that 
ruin them so much as the manner in which they conduct 
themselves after the faults have been committed. The 
wise will profit by the suffering they cause, and eschew 
them for the future; but there are those on whom expe- 
rience exerts no ripening influence, and who only grow 
narrower and bitterer,, and more vicious with time. 

What is called strong temper in a young man, often 
indicates a large amount of unripe energy, which will 
expend itself in useful work if the road be fairly opened 
to it. It is said of Stephen Girard, a Frenchman, who 
pursued a remarkably successful career in the United 
States, that when he heard of a £lerk with a strong tem- 
per, he would readily take him into his employment, and 
set him to work in a room by himself ; Girard being of 



172 Evils of Strong Temper. [chap. vi. 

oiDinion that such persons were the best workers, and 
that their energy would expend itself in work if re- 
moved from the temptation to quarrel. 

Strong temper may only mean a strong and excitable 
will. Uncontrolled, it displays itself in fitful outbreaks 
of passion ; but controlled and held in subjection — like 
steam pent-up within the organized mechanism of a 
steam-engine, the use of which is regulated and con- 
trolled by slide-valves and governors and levers — it 
may become a source of energetic power and useful- 
ness. Hence some of the greatest characters in history 
have been men of strong temper, but of equally strong 
determination to hold their motive-power under strict 
regulation and control. 

The famous Earl of Strafford was of an extremely 
choleric and passionate nature, and had great struggles 
with himself in his endeavors to control his temper. 
Referring to the advice of one of his friends, old Secre- 
tary Cooke, who was honest enough to tell him of his 
weakness, and to caution him against indulging it, he 
wrote : " You gave me a good lesson to be patient ; 
and, indeed, my years and natural inclinations give me 
heat more than enough, which, however, I trust more 
experience shall cool, and a watch over myself in time 
altogether overcome ; in the mean time, in this at least 
it will set forth itself more pardonable, because my ear- 
nestness shall ever be for the honor, justice, and profit 
of my master ; and it is not always anger, but the mis- 
applying of it, that is the vice so blamable, and of disad- 
vantage to those that let themselves loose thereunto."* 

Cromwell, also, is described as having been of a way- 
ward and violent temper in his youth — cross, untracta- 
ble, and masterless — with a vast quantity of youthful 
energy, which exploded in a variety of youthful mis- 

* " Strafford Papers," i., 87. 



CHAP. VI.] Uses of Strong Temper. 173 



chiefs. He even obtained the reputation of a royster- 
er in his native town, and seemed to be rapidly going to 
the bad, when reUgion, in one of its most rigid forms, 
laid hold upon his strong nature, and subjected it to the 
iron discipline of Calvinism. An entirely new direction 
was thus given to his energy of temperament, w^hich 
forced an outlet for itself into public life, and eventual- 
ly became the dominating influence in England for a 
period of nearly twenty years. 

The heroic princes of the house of Nassau were all 
distinguished for the same qualities of self-control, self- 
denial, and determination of purpose. William the Si- 
lent was so called, not because he was a taciturn man — 
for he was an eloquent and powerful speaker where elo- 
quence was necessary — but because he was a man who 
could hold his tongue when it was wisdom not to speak, . 
and because he carefully kept his own counsel when to 7 
have revealed it might have been dangerous to the lib- ' 
erties of his country. He was so gentle and conciliato- 
ry in his maiTner that his enemies even described him as 
timid and pusillanimous. Yet, when the time for action 
came, his courage was heroic, his determination uncon- 
querable. " The rock in the ocean," says Mr. Motley, 
the historian of the Netherlands, "tranquil amid raging 
billows, was the favorite emblem by which his friends 
expressed their sense of his firmness." 

Mr. Motley compares William the Silent to Washing- 
ton, whom he in many respects resembled. The Ameri- 
can, like the Dutch patriot, stands out in history as the 
very impersonation of dignity, bravery, purity, and per- 
sonal excellence. His command over his feelings, even 
in moments of great difficulty and danger, was such as 
to convey the impression, to those who did not know 
him intimately, that he was a man of inborn calmness 
and almost impassiveness of disposition. Yet Wash- 
ington was by nature ardent and impetuous ; his mild- 



174 Poiver of Self-Restraint. [CHAP. VI. 

nesSj gentleness, politeness, and consideration for others, 
were the result of rigid self-control and unwearied self- 
discipline, which he diligently practised even from his 
boyhood. His biographer says of him, that "his tem- 
perament was ardent, his passions strong, and, amidst 
the multiplied scenes of temptation and excitement 
through which he passed, it was his constant effort, 
and ultimate triumph, to check the one and subdue the 
other." And again : " His passions were strong, and 
sometimes they broke out with vehemence, but he had 
the power of checking them in an instant. Perhaps 
self-control was the most remarkable trait of his char- 
acter. It was in part the effect of discipline; yet he 
seems by nature to have possessed this power in a de- 
gree which has been denied to other men."* 

The Duke of Wellington's natural temper, like that 
of Kapoleon, was irritable in the extreme, and it was 
only by watchful self-control that he was enabled to re- 
strain it. He studied calmness and coolness in the 
midst of danger, like any Indian chief. At Waterloo, 
and elsewhere, he gave his orders in the most critical 
moments without the slightest excitement, and in a tone 
of voice almost more than usually subdued.f 

Wordsworth the poet was, in his childhood, " of a 
stiff, moody, and violent temper," and " perverse and 
obstinate in defying chastisement." When experience 
of life had disciplined his temper, he learnt to exercise 
greater self-control ; but, at the same time, the qualities 
which distinguished him as a child were afterwards use- 
ful in enabling him to defy the criticism of his enemies. 
Nothing was more marked than Wordsworth's self-re- 
spect and self-determination, as well as his self-conscious- 
ness of power, at all periods of his history. 

Henry Martyn, the missionary, was another instance 

* Jared Sparks's "Life of "Washington," pp. 7, 53J:. 
t Brialmont's "Life of Wellington." 



CHAP. Yi.] Instances of Self- Denial. 175 

of a man iu whom strength of temper was only so much 
pent-up, unripe energy. As a boy he was impatient, pet- 
ulant, and perverse ; but by constant wrestling against 
his tendency to wrongheadedness, he gradually gained 
the requisite strength, so as to entirely overcome it, and 
to acquire what he so greatly coveted — tlie gift of pa- 
tience. 

A man may be feeble in organization, but, blessed 
with a happy temperament, his soul may be great, act- 
ive, noble, and sovereign. Professor Tyndall has given 
us a fine picture of the character of Faraday, and of his 
self-denying labors in the cause of science — exhibiting 
him as a man of strong, original, and even fiery nature, 
and yet of extreme tenderness and sensibility. "Un- 
derneath his sweetness and gentleness," he says, " was 
the heat of a volcano. He was a man of excitable and 
fiery nature ; but, through high self-discipline, he had 
converted the fire into a central glow and motive-power 
of life, instead of permitting it to waste itself in useless 
passion." 

There was one fine feature in Faraday's character 
which is worthy of notice — one closely akin to self-con- 
trol : it was his self-denial. By devoting himself to an- 
alytical chemistry, he might have speedily realized a 
large fortune; but he nobly resisted the temptation, 
and preferred to follow the path of pure science. " Tak- 
ing the duration of his life into account," says Mr. Tyn- 
dall, " this son of a blacksmith and apprentice to a book- ^ 
binder had to decide between a fortune of £150,000 on 
the one side, and his undowered science on the other. 
He chose the latter, and died a poor man. But his was 
the glory of holding aloft among the nations the scien- 
tific name of England for a period of forty years."* 

Take a like instance of the self-denial of a Frenchman. 

* Professor Tyndall, on " Faraday as a Discoverer," p. 15G. 



176 Outrarfbs Self -Denial. [chap. vi. 

The historian Anquetil was one of the small number of 
literary men in France who refused to bow to the Na- 
poleonic yoke. He sank into great poverty, living on 
bread-and-milk, and limiting his expenditure to only 
three sous a day. "I have. still two sous a day left," 
said he, " for the conqueror of Marengo and Auster- 
litz." "But if you fall sick," said a friend to him, 
" you will need the help of a pension. Why not do as 
others do ? Pay court to the emperor — you have need 
of him to live." " I do not need him to die," was the 
historian's reply. But Anquetil did not die of poverty ; 
he lived to the age of ninety-four, saying to a friend, on 
the eve of his death, " Come, see a man who dies still 
full of life !" 

Sir James Outram exhibited the same characteristic 
of noble self-denial, though in an altogether different 
sphere of life. Like the great King Arthur, he was 
emphatically a man who "forbore his own adv^antage." 
He was characterized throughout his whole career by 
his noble unselfishness. Though he might personally 
disapprove of the policy he was occasionally ordered to 
carry out, he never once faltered in the path of duty. 
Thus, he did not approve of the policy of invading 
Scinde ; yet his services throughout the campaign were 
acknowledged by General Sir C. Napier to have been 
of the most brilliant character. But when the war was 
over, and the rich spoils of Scinde lay at the conqueror's 
feet, Outram said : " I disapprove of the policy of this 
war — I will accept no share of the prize-money !" 

Not less marked was his generous self-denial when 
dispatched with a strong force to aid Havelock in fight- 
ing his way to Lucknow. As superior officer, he was 
entitled to take upon himself the chief command ; but, 
recognizing what Havelock had already done, with rare 
disinterestedness he left to his junior officer the glory 
of completing the campaign, offering to serve under 



CHAP, yl] Forbearance of Sj^eech. 177 

him as a yolunteer. "With such reputation," said 
Lord Clyde, "as Major-general Outrani has won for 
himself, he can afford to share glory and honor with 
others. But that does not lessen the value of the sac- 
rifice he has made with such disinterested generosity." 

If a man would get through life honorably and peace- 
ably, he must necessarily learn to practise self-denial in 
small things as well as great. Men have to bear as well 
as forbear. The temper has to be held in subjection to 
the judgment; and the little demons of ill-humor, petu- 
lance, and sarcasm, kept resolutely at a distance. If 
once they find an entrance to the mind, they are very 
apt to return, and to establish for themselves a perma- 
nent occupation there. 

It is necessary to one's personal happiness, to exercise 
control over one's words as well as acts : for there are 
words that strike even harder than blows ; and men 
may " speak daggers," though they use none. " Tin 
coup de langue,^'' says the French proverb, " est pire 
qiCun coup de lance.'''' The stinging repartee that rises 
to the lips, and which, if uttered, might cover an adver- 
sary with confusion, how difiicult it sometimes is to re- 
sist saying it ! " Heaven keep us," says Miss Bremei', 
in her " Home," " from the destroying power of words ! 
There are words which sever hearts more than sharp 
swords do; there are words the point of which sting 
the heart through the course of a whole life." 

Thus character exhibits itself in self-control of speech 
as much as in any thing else. The wise and forbearant 
man will restrain his desire to say a smart or severe 
thing at the expense of another's feelings; while the 
fool blurts out what he thinks, and will sacrifice his ^ 
friend rather than his joke. "The mouth of a wise 
man," said Solomon, "is in his heart; the heart of a 
fool is in his mouth." 

There are, however, men who are no fools, that are 
H2 



178 Self-Controlin S]jeec]i. [CHAP. VI. 

headlong in their language as in their acts, because of 
their want of forbearance and self-restraining patience. 
The impulsive genius, gifted with quick thought and in- 
cisive speech — perhaps carried away by the cheers of the 
moment — lets fly a sarcastic sentence which may return 
upon him to his own infinite damage. Even statesmen 
might be named, who have failed through their inability 
to resist the temptation of saying clever and spiteful 
things at their adversary's expense. " The turn of a sen- 
tence," says Bentham, " has decided the fate of many a 
friendship, and, for aught that we know, the fate of 
many a kingdom." So, when one is tempted to write a 
clever but harsh thing, though it may be diflicult to re- 
strain it, it is always better to leave it in the inkstand. 
"A goose's quill," says the Spanish proverb, "often 
'' hurts more than a lion's claw." 

Carlyle says, when speaking of Oliver Cromwell, " He 
that can not withal keep his mind to himself, can not 
practise any considerable thing whatsoever." It was 
said of William the Silent, by one of his greatest ene- 
mies, that an arrogant or indiscreet word was never 
known to fall from his lips. Like him, Washington 
was discretion itself in the use of speech, never taking 
advantage of an o|)ponent, or seeking a short-lived tri- 
umph in a debate. And it is said that, in the long run, 
the world comes round to and supports the v/ise man 
who knows when and how to be silent. 

We have heard men of great experience say that 
they have often regretted having spoken, but never 
once regretted holding their tongue. " Be silent," says 
Pythagoras, " or say something better than silence." 
" Speak fitly," says George Herbert, " or be silent wise- 
ly." St. Francis de Sales, whom Leigh Hunt styled 
" the Gentleman Saint," has said : " It is better to re- 
main silent than to speak the truth ill-humoredly, and 
so spoil an excellent dish by covering it with bad 



CHAP, yl] The Expression of Indignation. 179 

sauce." Another Frenchman, Lacordaire, characteris- 
tically puts speech first, and silence next. "After 
speech," he says, " silence is the greatest power in the 
world." Yet a word spoken in season, how powerful it 
may be ! As the old Welsh proverb has it, "A golden 
tongue is in the mouth of the blessed." 

It is related, as a remarkable instance of self-control 
on the part of De Leon, a distinguished Spanish poet of 
the sixteenth century, who lay for years in the dungeons 
of the Inquisition without light or society, because of his 
having translated a part of the Scriptures into his native 
tongue, that, on being liberated and restored to his pro- 
fessorship, an immense crowd attended his first lecture, 
expecting some account of his long imprisonment; but 
De Leon was too wise and too gentle to indulge in re- 
crimination.. He merely resumed the lecture which, 
five years before, had been so sadly interrupted, with 
the accustomed formula ^^Seri dicehamus,^^ and went 
directly into his subject. 

There are, of course, times and occasions when the 
expression of indignation is not only justifiable but nec- 
essary. We are bound to be indignant at falsehood, 
selfishness, and cruelty. A man of true feeling fires up 
naturally at baseness or meanness of any sort, even in 
cases where he may be under no obligation to speak 
out. " I would have nothing to do," said Perthes, 
" with the man who can not be moved to indignation. 
There are more good people than bad in the world, and 
the bad get the upper hand merely because they are 
bolder. We can not help being pleased with a man 
who uses his powers with decision ; and we often take 
his side for no other reason than because he does so use 
them. Xo doubt, I have often repented speaking; but 
not less often have I repented keeping silence."* 

* "Life of Perthes," ii., 216. 



180 Practical Wisdom. [CHAP.vi. 

Oue who loves right can not be indifferent to wrong, 
or wrong-doing. If he feels warmly, he will speak 
warmly, out of the fullness of his heart. As a noble 
lady* has written : 

' ' A noble heart doth teacL a virtuous scorn — 

To scorn to owe a duty overlong, 
To scorn to be for benefits forborne, 

To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong, 
To scorn to bear an injury in mind, 
To scorn a freeborn heart slave-like to bind." 

We have, however, to be on our guard against impa- 
tient scorn. The best people are apt to have their im- 
patient side, and often the very temper which makes 
men earnest makes them also intolerant.f " Of all men- 
tal gifts," says Miss Julia Wedgwood, " the rarest is in- 
tellectual patience; and the last lesson of culture is to 
believe in difficulties which are invisible to ourselves." 
The best corrective of intolerance in disposition, is in- 
I crease of wisdom and enlarged experience of life. Cul- 
tivated good sense will usually save men from the en- 
tanglements in which moral impatience is apt to involve 
them ; good sense consisting chiefly in that temper of 
mind which enables its possessor to deal with the prac- 
tical affairs of life with justice, judgment, discretion, 
and charity. Hence men of culture and experience are 
invariably found the most forbearant and tolerant, as 
/ ignorant and narrow-minded j^ersons are found the most 
' unforgiving and intolerant. Men of large and generous 
natures, in proportion to their practical wisdom, are dis- 
posed to make allowance for the defects and disadvan- 

* Lady Elizabeth Carew. 

t Francis Horner, in one of his letters, says : "It is among the 
very sincere and zealous friends of liberty that you will find the most 
perfect specimens of wrongheadedness ; men of a dissenting, provin- 
cial cast of virtue — who (according to one of Shai-pe's favorite phrases) 
will drive a ^vedge the broad end foremost — utter strangers to all mod- 
eration in political business." — rRANCis Horner's Life and Corre- 
spondence (1843), ii., 133. 



CHAP. Yi.] Forbearance towards Others. 181 

tages of others — allowance for the controlling power 
of circumstances in the formation of character, and the 
limited power of resistance of weak and fallible natures 
to temptation and error. " I see no fault committed," 
said Goethe, " which I also might not have committed." 
So a wise and good man exclaimed, when he saw a crim- 
inal drawn on his hurdle to Tyburn : " There goes Jon- 
athan Bradford — but for the grace of God !" 

Life will always be, to a great extent, what w^e our- 
selves make it. The cheerful man makes a cheerful 
world, the gloomy man a gloomy one. We usually find 
but our own temperament reflected in the dispositions 
of those about us. If we are ourselves querulous, we 
will find them so ; if we are unforgiving and uncharita- 
ble to them, they will be the same to us. A person re- 
turning from an evening party not long ago, complained 
to a policeman on his beat that an ill-looking fellow was 
following him : it turned out to be only his own shad- 
ow ! And such usually is human life to each of us ; it 
is, for the most part, but the reflection of ourselves. 

If we would be at peace with others, and insure their 
respect, we must have regard for their personality. Ev- 
ery man has his peculiarities of manner and character, 
as he has peculiarities of form and feature; and we 
must have forbearance in dealing with them, as w^e ex- 
pect them to have forbearance in dealing with us. We 
may not be conscious of our own peculiarities, yet they 
exist nevertheless. There is a village in South America 
where gotos or goitres are so common that to be with- 
out one is regarded as a deformity. One day a party 
of Englishmen passed through the place, when quite a 
crowd collected to jeer them, shouting: "See, see these 
people — they have got oio gotos .-'" 

Many persons give themselves a great deal of fidget 
concerning what other people think of them and their 
peculiarities. Some are too much disposed to take the 



182 Faraday's Practical Philosophy, [chap. vi. 

ill-natured side, and, judging by themselves, infer the 
worst. But it is very often the case that the unchari- 
tableness of others, where it really exists, is but the re- 
flection of our own want of charity and want of temjDer. 
It still oftener happens, that the worry we subject our- 
selves to has its source in our own imagination. And 
even though those about us may think of us uncharita- 
bly, we shall not mend matters by exasperating ourselves 
against them. We may thereby only expose ourselves 
unnecessarily to their ill-nature or caprice. " The*ill that 
comes out of our mouth," says George Herbert, "oft- 
times falls into our bosom." 

The great and good philosopher Faraday communi- 
cated the following piece of admirable advice, full of 
practical wisdom, the result of a rich experience of life, 
in a letter to his friend. Professor Tyndall : " Let me, 
as an old man, who ought by this time to have profited 
by experience, say that when I was younger I found I 
often misrepresented the intentions of people, and that' 
they did not mean what at the time I supposed they 
meant ; and further, that, as a general rule, it was better 
to be a little dull of apprehension where phrases seemed 
to imply pique, and quick in perception when, on the 
contrary, they seemed to imply kindly feeling. The real 
truth never fails ultimately to appear; and opposing 
parties, if wrong, are sooner convinced when replied to 
forbearingly, than when overwhelmed. All I mean to 
say is, that it is better to be blind to the results of par- 
tisanship, and quick to see good-will. One has more 
happiness in one's self in endeavoring to follow the 
things that make for peace. You can hardly imagine 
how often I have been heated in private when opposed, 
as I have thought unjustly and superciliously, and yet I 
have striven, and succeeded, I hope, in keeping down re- 
plies of the like kind; and I know I have never lost by it."* 

* Professor Tyndall on "Faraday as a Discoverer," pp. 40, 41. 



CHAP. TL] Burns'' s Want of Self- Control 183 

While the painter Barry was at Rome, he involved 
himself, as was his wont, in furious quarrels with the 
artists and dilettanti, about picture-painting and picture- 
dealing, upon which his friend and countryman, Edmund 
Burke — always the generous friend of struggling merit 
— wrote to him kindly and sensibly : " Believe me, dear 
Barry, that the arms with which the ill dispositions of 
the world are to be combated, and the qualities by 
which it is to be reconciled to us, and we reconciled to 
it, are moderation, gentleness, a little indulgence to oth- 
ers, and a great deal of distrust of ourselves ; which are 
not qualities of a mean spirit, as some may possibly 
think them, but virtues of a great and noble kind, and 
such as dignify our nature as much as they contribute 
to our repose and fortune; for nothing can be so un- 
worthy of a well-composed soul as to pass away life in 
bickerings and litigations — in snarling and scuffling with 
every one about us. We must be at peace with our 
species, if not for their sakes, at least very much for our 
own."=^ 

No one knew the value of self-control better than the 
poet Burns, and no one could teach it more eloquently 
to others ; but when it came to practice. Burns was as 
weak as the weakest. He could not deny himself the 

* Yet Burke himself, though capable of giving Bany such excellent 
advice, was by no means immaculate as regarded his own temper. 
When he lav ill at Beacousfield, Fox, from whom he had become sep- 
arated by political differences arising out of the French Eevolution, 
Avent down to see his old friend. But Burke would not grant him an 
interview ; he positively refused to see him. On his return to town, 
Fox told his friend Coke the result of his jouraey ; and when Coke 
lamented Burke's obstinacy. Fox only replied good-naturedly : "Ah ! 
never mind, Tom ; I always find every Irishman has got a piece of 
potato in his head. " Yet Fox with his usual generosity, when he heard 
of Burke's impending death, wrote a most kind and cordial letter to 
Mrs. Burke, expressive of his grief and sympathy ; and when Burke 
was no more. Fox was the first to propose that he should be interred 
with public honors in "Westminster Abbey — wliich only Burke's own 
express wish, that he should be buried at Beaconsfield, prevented be- 
ing earned out. 



184 Mischief of Beranger^s Songs. [chap. VI. 

pleasure of utteriDg a harsh and clever sarcasm at an- 
other's expense. One of his biographers observes of 
him, that it was no extravagant arithmetic to say that 
for every ten jokes he made himself a hundred enemies. 
But this was not all. Poor Burns exercised no control 
over his appetites, but freely gave them the rein : 

"Thus thoughtless follies laid him low 
And stained his name. " 

ISTor had he the self-denial to resist giving publicity to 
compositions originally intended for the delight of the 
tap-room, but which continue secretly to sow pollution 
broadcast in the minds of youth. Indeed, notwithstand- 
ing the many exquisite poems of this writer, it is not 
saying too much to aver that his immoral writings have 
done far more harm than his purer writings have done 
good ; and that it would be better that all his writings 
should be destroyed and forgotten, provided his inde- 
cent songs could be destroyed with them. 

The remark applies alike to Beranger, who has been 
styled "the Burns of France." Beranger was of the 
same bright incisive genius ; he had the same love of 
pleasure, the same love of popularity ; and while he flat- 
tered French vanity to the top of its bent, he also paint- 
ed the vices most loved by his countrymen with the pen 
of a master. Beranger's songs and Thiers's History 
probably did more than any thing else to re-establish 
the IsTapoleonic dynasty in France. But that was a small 
evil compared with the moral mischief which many of 
Beranger's songs are calculated to produce ; for, circu- 
lating freely as they do in French households, they ex- 
hibit pictures of nastiness and vice which are enough 
to pollute and destroy a nation. 

One of Burns's finest poems, written in his twenty- 
eighth year, is entitled "A Bard's Epitaph." It is a 
description, by anticipation, of his own life. Words- 



CHAP. YI.] The Tyranny of ApiMite. 185 

worth has said of it : " Here is a sincere and solemn 
avowal; a public declaration from his own will; a con- 
fession at once devout, poetical, and human ; a history 
in the shape of a prophecy." It concludes with these 

lines : 

"Reader, attend — whether thy soiil 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole 

In low piu-suit ; 
Know — prudent, cautious self-control, 
Is Wisdom's root." 

One of the vices before which Burns fell — and it may 
be said to be a master-vice, because it is productive of 
so many other vices — -was drinking. N'ot that he was a 
drunkard, but because he yielded to the temptations of 
drink, with its degrading associations, and thereby low- 
ered and depraved his whole nature.* But poor Burns 
did not stand alone ; for, alas ! of all vices, the unre- 
strained appetite for drink was in his time, as it contin- 
ues to be now, the most prevalent, popular, degrading, 
and destructive. 

Were it possible to conceive the existence of a tyrant 
who should compel his people to give up to him one- 
third or more of their earnings, and require them at the 
same time to consume a commodity that should brutal- 
ize and degrade them, destroy the peace and comfort of 
their families, and sow in themselves the seeds of dis- 
ease and premature death — what indignation meetings, 
what monster processions, there would be ! What elo- 
quent speeches and apostrophes to the spirit of liberty ! 



* When Curran, the Irish barrister, visited Buras's cabin in 1810, 
he found it converted into a public-house, and the landlord who show- 
ed it was drunk. "There," said he, pointing to a corner on one side 
of the fire, with a most mat a propos laugh — " there is the verv spot 
where Eobert Burns was born." "The genius and the fate of the 
man," says Curran, " were already heavy on my heart ; but the drunk- 
en laugh of the landlord gave me such a view of the rock on which 
he had foundered, that I could not stand it, but burst into tears." 



186 Honest Living. [chap. VI. 

— what appeals against a despotism so monstrous and 
so unnatural ! And yet such a tyrant really exists 
among us — the tyrant of unrestrained appetite, whom 
no force of arms, or voices, or votes can resist, while 
men are willing to be his slaves. 

The power of this tyrant can only be overcome by 
moral means — by self-discipline, self-respect, and self- 
control. There is no other way of withstanding the 
despotism of appetite in any of its forms. No reform 
of institutions, no. extended power of voting, no im- 
proved form of government, no amount of scholastic in- 
struction, can possibly elevate the character of a i^eople 
who voluntarily abandon themselves to sensual indul- 
gence. The pursuit of ignoble pleasure is the degrada- 
tion of true happiness ; it saps the morals, destroys the 
energies, and degrades the manliness and robustness of 
individuals as of nations. 

The courage of self-control exhibits itself in many 
ways, but in none more clearly than in honest living. 
Men without the virtue of self-denial are not only sub- 
ject to their own selfish desires, but they are usually in 
bondage to others who are like-minded with themselves. 
What others do, they do. They must live according to 
the artificial standard of their class, spending like their 
neighbors, regardless of the consequences, at the same 
time that all are, perhaps, aspiring after a style of living 
hiofher than their means. Each carries the others alongj 
with him, and they have not the moral courage to stop. 
They can not resist the temptation of living high, though 
it may be at the expense of others ; and they gradually 
become reckless of debt, until it enthralls them. In all 
this there is great moral cowardice, pusillanimity, and 
want of manly independence of character. 

A right-minded man will shrink from seeming to be 
what he is not, or pretending to be richer than he really 
is, or assuming a style of living that his circumstances 



CHAP. VI.] Tlie Virtue of Honesty. 187 

will not justify. He will have the courage to live ho.n- 
estly within his own means, rather than dishonestly upon 
the means of other people ; for he who incurs debts in . 
striving to maintain a style of living beyond his income, 1 
is in spirit as dishonest as the man who openly picks 
your pocket. 

To many this may seem an extreme view, but it will 
bear the strictest test. Living at the cost of others is 
not only dishonesty, but it is untruthfulness in deed, as 
lying is in w^ord. The proverb of George Herbei't, that 
" debtors are liars," is justified by experience. Shaftes- 
bury somewhere says that a restlessness to have some- 
thing which we have not, and to be something which 
we are not, is the root of all immorality.* No reliance 
is to be placed on the saying — a very dangerous one — 
of Mirabeau, that "Xa petite morale etait Vennemie de 
la grander On the contrary, strict adherence to even 
the smallest details of morality is the foundation of all 
manly and noble character. 

The honorable man is frugal of liis means, and pays 
his way honestl}^ He does not seek to pass himself off 
as richer than he is, or, by running into debt, open an s 
account with ruin. As that man is not poor whose 
means are small but whose desires are under control, so 
that man is rich w^hose means are more than sufficient 
for his wants. When Socrates saw a great quantity of 
riches, jewels, and furniture of great value, carried in 
pomp through Athens, he said, " Now do I see how 

* The chaplain of HorsemongevLane Jail, in his annual report to the 
Surrey justices, thus states the result of his careful study of the causes 
of dishonesty: "From my experience of predatory crime, founded 
upon a careful study of the character of a great variety of prisoners, I 
conclude that habitual dishonesty is to be referred neither to igno- 
rance, nor to drunkenness, nor to poverty, nor to overcrowding in 
towns, nor to temptation from surrounding wealth — nor, indeed, to 
any one of the many indirect causes to which it is sometimes referred 
— but mainly to a disposition to acquire property with a less degree of 
labor than ordinary industry ^ The italics are the author's. 



188 Maginn's Improvidence. [chap. vi. 

many things I do oiot desire." "I can forgive every 
thing but selfishness," said Perthes. " Even the narrow- 
est circumstances admit of greatness with reference to 
' mine and thine ;' and none but the very }3oorest need 
fill their daily life with thoughts of money, if they have 
but prudence to arrange their housekeeping within the 
limits of their income." 

A man may be indifferent to money because of higher 
considerations, as Faraday was, who sacrificed wealth to 
pursue science; but if he would have the enjoyments 
that money can purchase, he must honestly earn it, and 
not live upon the earnings of others, as those do who 
habitually incur debts which they have no means of 
paying. When Maginn, always drowned in debt, was 
asked what he paid for his wine, he replied that he did 
not know, but he believed they "put something down 
in a book."'^ 

This " putting-down in a book " has proved the ruin 
of a great many weak-minded people, who can not resist 
the temptation of taking things upon credit which they 
have not the present means of paying for; and it would 
probably prove of great social benefit if the law which 
enables creditors to recover debts contracted under cer- 
tain circumstances were altogether abolished. But, in 
the competition for trade, every encouragement is given 
to the incurring of debt, the creditor relying upon the 
law to aid him in the last extremity. When Sydney 
Smith once went into a new neighborhood, it was given 
out in the local papers that he was a man of high con- 
nections, and he was besought on all sides for his " cus- 
tom." But he speedily undeceived his new neighbors. 
" We are not great peoi^le at all," he said : " we are only 
common honest people — people that pay our debts." 

liazlitt, who was a thoroughly honest though rather 

*S. C. Hairs "Memories." 



CHAP. YL] Sheridan^ s Public Honesty. 189 

thriftless man, speaks of two classes of persons, not 
unlike each other — those who can not keep their own 
money in their hands, and those who can not keep their 
hands from other people's. The former are always in 
want of money, for they throw it away on any object 
that first presents itself, as if to get rid of it ; the latter 
make away with w^hat they have of their own, and are 
perpetual borrowers from all who will lend to them ; 
and their genius for borrowing, in the long run, usually 
proves their ruin. 

Sheridan was one of such eminent unfortunates. He 
was impulsive and careless in his expenditure, borrow- 
ing money, and running into debt with every body who 
would trust him. When he stood for Westminster, his 
unpopularity arose chiefly from his general indebted- 
ness. " Numbers of poor people," says Lord Palmer- 
ston in one of his letters, " crowded round the hustings, 
demanding payment for the bills he owed them." In 
the midst of all his difficulties, Sheridan was as light- 
hearted as ever, and cracked many a good joke at his 
creditors' expense. Lord Palmerston was actually pres- 
ent at the dinner given by him, at which the sheriff's S 
officers in possession were dressed up and ofiiciated as 
waiters. 

Yet, however loose Sheridan's morality may have 
been as regarded his private creditors, he was honest so 
far as the public money was concerned. Once, at a din- 
ner, at which Lord Byron happened to be present, an 
observation happened to be made as to the sturdiness of 
the Whigs in resisting office and keeping to their prin- 
ciples — on which Sheridan turned sharply round, and 
said : " Sir, it is easy for my Lord this, or Earl that, or 
the Marquis of t'other, with thousands upon thousands 
a year, some of it either presently derived or inherited 
in sinecure or acquisitions from the public money, to 
boast of their patriotism and keep aloof from tempta- 



190 Public Honesty. [CHAP. VI. 

tion ; but they do not know from what temptation those 
have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal tal- 
ents, and not unequal passions, and nevertheless knew 
not, in the course of their lives, what it was to have a 
shilling of their own." And Lord Byron adds, that, in 
saying this, Sheridan wept.* 

The tone of public morality in money matters was 
very low in those days. Political peculation was not 
thought discreditable ; and heads of parties did not hes- 
itate to secure the adhesion of their followers by a free 
use of the public money. They were generous, but at 
the expense of others — like that great local magnate, 

who, 

' ' Out of his great bounty, 
Built a bridge at the expense of the county." 

When Lord Cornwallis was appointed Lord Lieu- 
tenant of Ireland, he pressed upon Colonel Napier, the 
father of the Napiers, the comptrollership of army ac- 
counts. " I want," said his lordship, " an honest man, 
and this is the only thing I have been able to wrest 
from the harpies around me." 

It is said that Lord Chatham was the first to set the 
example of disdaining to govern by petty larceny ; and 
his great son was alike honest in his administration. 
While millions of money were passing through Pitt's 
hands, he himself was never otherwise than poor ; and 
he died poor. Of all his rancorous libellers, not one 
ever ventured to call in question his honesty. 

In former times, the profits of office were sometimes 
enormous. When Audley, the famous annuity-monger 
of the sixteenth century, was asked the value of an of- 
fice which he had purchased in the Court of Wards, he 
replied : " Some thousands to any one who wishes to 
get to heaven immediately ; twice as much to him who 

* ]Moore's "Life of Byron," 8vo ed., p. 182. 



CHAP. VI.] Sir Walter Scott. 191 

does not mind being in purgatory; and nobody knows 
what to him who is not afraid of the devil." 

Sir Walter Scott was a man who was honest to the 
core of his nature; and his strenuous and determined 
efforts to pay his debts, or rather the debts of the firm 
w4th which he had become involved, has always ap- 
peared to us one of the grandest things in biography. 
When his publisher and printer broke down, ruin seem- 
ed to stare him in the face. There was no want of sym- 
pathy for him in his great misfortune, and friends came 
forward who offered to raise money enough to enable 
him to arrange with his creditors. *' No !" said he, 
proudly; "this right hand shall work it all off!" "If 
we lose every thing else," he wrote to a friend, " we 
wdll at least keep our honor unblemished."* While his 
liealth was already becoming undermined by overwork, 
he went on " writing like a tiger," as he himself ex- 
pressed it, until no longer able to wield a pen ; and 
though he paid the penalty of his supreme efforts with his 
life, he nevertheless saved his honor and his self-resj^ect. 

Every body knows how Scott threw off "Woodstock," 
the " Life of Napoleon " (which he thought would be 
his deathf), articles for the " Quarterly," " Chronicles of 

* Captain Hall records the following conversation with Scott: "It 
occurs to me," I observed, " that people are apt to make too much 
fuss about the loss of fortune, which is one of the smallest of the great 
evils of life, and ought to be among the most tolerable." — "Do you 
call it a small misfortune to be ruined in money matters ?" he asked. 
" It is not so painful, at all events, as the loss of friends." — " I grant 
that," he said. "As the loss of character ?" — " True again." "As 
the loss of health?" — "Ay, there you have me," he muttered to him- 
self, in a tone so melancholy that I wished I had not spoken. ' ' What 
is the loss of fortune to the loss of peace of mind ?" I continued. " In 
short," said he, playfully, " yon will make it out that there is no harm 
in a man's being plunged over head and ears in a debt he can not re- 
move." " Much depends, I think, on how it was incurred, and what 
efforts are made to redeem it — at least, if the sufferer be a right-mind- 
ed man." "I hope it does," he said, cheerfully and firmly. — Frag- 
ments of Voyages and Travels, 3d series, pp. 308, 309. 

t " These battles," he wrote in his Diary, "have been the death of 
many a man. I think thev will be mine." 



192 Scotfs Courage and Honesty. [CHAP. vi. 

the Canongate," " Prose Miscellanies," and " Tales of a 
Grandfather " — all written in the midst of pain, sorrow, 
and ruin. The proceeds of those various works went 
to his creditors. " I could not have slept sound," he 
wrote, " as I now can, under^the comfortable impression 
of receiving the thanks of my creditors, and the con- 
scious feeling of discharging my duty as a man of hon- 
or and honesty. I see before me a long, tedious, and 
dark path, but it leads to stainless reputation. If I die 
in the harrows, as is very likely, I shall die with honor. 
If I achieve my task, I shall have the thanks of all con- 
cerned, and the approbation of my own conscience."* 

And then followed more articles, memoirs, and even 
sermons — " The Fair Maid of Perth," a completely re- 
vised edition of his novels, "Anne of Geierstein," and 
more " Tales of a Grandfather " — until he was sudden- 
ly struck down by paralysis. But he had no sooner re- 
covered sufficient strength to be able to hold a pen, than 
we find him again at his desk writing the '-'Letters on 
Demonology and Witchcraft," a volume of Scottish His- 
tory for " Lardner's Cyclopaedia," and a fourth series of 
" Tales of a Grandfather " in his French History. In 
vain his doctors told him to give up work; he would 
not be dissuaded. "As for bidding me not work," 
he said to Dr. Abercrombie, "Molly might just as well 
put the kettle on the fire and say, ' N'ow, kettle, don't 
boil ;' " to which he added, " If I were to be idle, I 
should go mad !" 

By means of the profits realized by these tremendous 
efforts, Scott saw his debts in course of rapid diminu- 
tion, and he trusted that, after a few more years' work, 
he would again be a free man. But it was not to be. 
He went on turning out such works as his " Count 
Robert of Paris " with greatly-impaired skill, until he 
' was prostrated by another and severer attack of palsy. 

* Scott's Diary, December 17th, 1827. 



CHAP, yl] LockliarV s Devotion to Scott. 193 

He now felt that the plough was nearing the end of the 
furrow; his physical strength was gone; he was "not 
quite himself in all things," and yet his courage and 
perseverance never failed. "I have suffered terribly," 
he wrote in his Diavy, " though rather in body than in 
mind, and I often wish I could lie down and sleep with- 
©"ut waking. But I v:ill fight it out if I can.'''' 

He again recovered sufficiently to be able to write 
" Castle Dangerous," though the cunning of the work- 
man's hand had departed. And then there was his last 
tour to Italy in search of rest and health, during which, 
while at Naples, in spite of all remonstrances, he gave 
several hours every morning to the composition of a 
new novel, which, however, has not seen the light. 

Scott returned to Abbotsford to die. " I have seen 
much," he said on his return, " but nothing like my own 
house — give me one turn more." One of the last things 
he uttered, in one of his lucid intervals, was worthy of 
him. "I have been," he said, " perhaps the most volu- 
minous author of my day, and it is a comfort to me to 
think that I have tried to unsettle no man's faith, to cor- 
rupt no man's principles, and that I have written noth- 
ing which on. my death-bed I should wish blotted out." 
His last injunction to his son-in-law was: "Lockhart, I 
may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear, be 
virtuous — be religious — be a good man. Nothing else 
will give you any comfort when you come to lie here." 

The devoted conduct of Lockhart himself was worthy 
of his great relative. The "Life of Scott," which he 
afterwards wrote, occupied him several years, and was 
a remarkably successful work. Yet he himself derived 
no pecuniary advantage from it ; handing over the prof- 
its of the whole undertaking to Sir Walter's creditors, 
in payment of debts for which he was in no way respon- 
sible, but influenced entirely by a spirit of honor, and of 
regard for the memory of the illustrious dead. 

I 



CHAPTER VII. 



DUTY TRUTHFULNESS. 



• "I slept, and dreamt that life was Beauty ; 

I woke, and found that life was Duty." 

" Duty ! wondrous thought, that workest neither by fond insinu- 
ation, flattery, nor hy any threat, but merely by holding up thy naked 
law in the soul, and so extorting for thyself always reverence, if not 
always obedience ; before whom all appetites are dumb, however se- 
oi-etly they rebel !" — I^nt. 

" How happy is he born and taught. 
That serveth not another's will ! 
. Whose armor is his honest thought, 
*! And simple truth his utmost skill ! 

* ' Whose passions not his masters are, 

Whose soul is still prepared for death ; 
Unti'd unto the world by care 
Of public fame, or private breath. 



*' This man is freed from servile bands, 
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall : 
Lord of himself, though not of land; 

And having nothing, yet hath all." — Wotton. 

*'His nay was nay without recall ; 

His yea was yea, and powerful all ; 
He gave his yea with careful heed. 

His thoughts and words were Avell agreed ; 
^ His word, his bond and seal." 

Inscription on Bakon Stein's Tomb. 

DUTY is a thing that is due, and must be paid by 
every man who would avoid present discredit and 
eventual moral insolvency. It is an obligation — a debt 
— which can only be discharged by voluntary effort and 
resolute action in the affairs of life. 

Duty embraces man's whole existence. It begins in 
the home, where there is the duty which children owe 
to their parents on the one hand, and the duty which 



CHAP. VII.] The Abiding Sense of Duty. 195 

parents owe to their children on the other. There are, 
in like manner, the respective duties of husbands and 
wives, of masters and servants ; while outside the home 
there are the duties which men and women owe to each 
other as friends and neighbors, as employers and em- 
ployecT, as governors and governed. 

" Render, therefore," says St. Paul, " to all their dues : 
tribute to whom tribute is due; custom to whom cus- 
tom; fear to whom fear; honor to whom honor. Owe 
no man any thing, but to love one another; for he that 
loveth another hath fulfilled the law." 

Thus duty rounds the whole of life, from our entrance 
into it until our exit from it — duty to superiors, duty 
to inferiors, and duty to equals — duty to man, and duty 
to God. Wherever there is power to use or to direct, 
there is duty. For we are but as stevv^ards, appointed 
to employ the means intrusted to us for our own and for 
others' good. 

The abiding sense of duty is the very crown .of char- 
acter. It is the upholding law of man in his highest 
attitudes. Without it, the individual totters and falls 
before the first puff of adversity or temptation ; where- 
as, inspired by it, the weakest becomes strong and full 
of courage. "Duty," says Mrs. Jameson, " is the ce- 
ment which binds the whole moral edifice together; 
without which, all power, goodness, intellect, truth, hap- 
piness, love itself, can have no permanence ; but all the 
fabric of existence crumbles away from under us, and 
leaves us at last sitting in the midst of a ruin, astonished 
at our own desolation." 

Duty is based upon a sense of justice — justice inspired 
by love, which is the most perfect form of goodness. 
Duty is not a sentiment, but a principle pervading the ^ 
life : and it exhibits itself in conduct and in acts, which ■ 
are mainly determined by man's conscience and free- 
will. 



196 Conscience and Will [chap. vii. 

The voice of conscience speaks in duty done; and 
without its regulating and controlling influence, the 
brightest and greatest intellect may be merely as a light 
that leads astray. Conscience sets a man upon his feet, 
while his will holds him upright. Conscience is the 
moral governor of the heart — the governor of right ac- 
tion, of right thought, of right faith, of right life— and 
only through its dominating influence can the noble and 
upright character be fully developed. 

The conscience, however, may speak never so loudly, 
but without energetic will it may speak in vain. The 
will is free to choose between the right course and the 
wrong one, but the choice is nothing unless followed by 
immediate and decisive action. If the sense of duty be 
strong, and the course of action clear, the courageous 
will, upheld by the conscience, enables a man to proceed 
on his course bravely, and to accomplish his purposes in 
the face of all opposition and difficulty. And should 
failure be the issue, there will remain at least this satis- 
faction, that it has been in the cause of duty. 

" Be and continue poor, young man," said Heinzel- 
mann, " while others around you grow rich by fraud and 
disloyalty ; be without place or power, Avhile others beg 
their w\ay upward ; bear the pain of disappointed hopes, 
while others gain the accomplishment of theirs by flat- 
tery ; forego the gracious pressure of the hand, for which 
others cringe and crawl. Wrap yourself in your own 
virtue, and seek a friend and your daily bread. If you 
have in your own cause grown gray with unbleached 
honor, bless God and die !" 

Men inspired by high principles are often required 
to sacrifice all that they esteem and love rather than 
fail in their duty. The old English idea of this sub- 
lime devotion to duty was expressed by the loyalist 
poet to his sweetheart, on taking up arms for his sov- 
ereign : 



CHAP. Yii.] The Sense of Honor. ' 197 

"I could love thee, dear, so much, 
Loved i hot honor more."* 

And Sertorius has said : " The man who has any digni- 
ty of character should conquer with honor, and not use 
any base means even to save his life." So St. Paul, in- 
spired by duty and faith, declared himself as not only 
" ready to be bound, but to die at Jerusalem." 

When the Marquis of Pescara was entreated by the 
princes of Italy to desert the Spanish cause, to which he 
was in honor bound, his noble wife, Vittoria Colonna, 
reminded him of his duty. She wrote to him : " Re- 
member your honor, which raises you above fortune 
and above kings ; by that alone, and not by the splendor 
of titles, is glory acquired — that glory which it will be 
your happiness and pride to transmit unspotted to your 
jDOsterity." Such was the dignified view which she took 
of her husband's honor ; and when he fell at Pavia, 
though young and beautiful, and besought by many 
admirers, she betook herself to solitude, that she might 
lament over her husband's loss and celebrate his ex- 
ploits.f 

To live really is to act energetically. Life is a bat- 
tle to be fought valiantly. Inspired by high and honor- 
able resolve, a man must stand to his post, and die there, 
if need be. Like the old Danish hero, his determination 
should be, " to dare nobly, to will strongly, and never to 
falter in the path of duty." The power of will, be it 
great or small, which God has given us, is a Divine gift ; 
and we ought neither to let it perish for want of using, 
on the one hand, nor profane it by employing it for ig- 
noble purposes, on the other. Robertson, of Brighton, 
has truly said, that man's real greatness consists not in 

* From Lovelace's lines to Lucusta (Lucy Sacheverell), " Going to 
the AYars. " 

t Among other gi-eat men of genius, Ariosto and Michael Angelo 
devoted to her their service and their muse. 



198 Sacredness of Duty. [CHAP. Vli. 

seeking his own pleasure, or fame, or advancement — 
"not that every one shall save his own life, not that 
every man shall seek his own glory — but that every 
man shall do his own duty." 
/ What most stands in the way of the performance of 
duty, is irresolution, weakness of purpose, and indecis- 
ion. On the one side are conscience and the knowledge 
of good and evil ;. on the other are indolence, selfishness, 
■ love of pleasure, or passion. The weak and ill-disci- 
plined will may remain sus23ended for a time between 
these influences ; but at length the balance inclines one 
way or the other, according as the will is called into ac- 
tion or otherwise. If it be allowed to remain passive, 
the lower influence of selfishness or passion will prevail ; 
and thus manhood suffers abdication, individuality is 
renounced, character is degraded, and the man permits 
himself to become the mere passive slave of his senses. 

Thus, the power of exercising the will promptly, in 
obedience to the dictates of conscience, and thereby re- 
sisting the impulses of the lower nature, is of essential 
importance in moral discipline, and absolutely necessary 
for the development of character in its best forms. To 
acquire the habit of well-doing, to resist evil propensi- 
ties, to fight against sensual desires, to overcome inborn 
selfishness, may require a long and persevering disci- 
pline; but when once the practice of duty is learned, 
it becomes consolidated in habit, and thenceforward is 
comparatively easy. 

The valiant good man is he who, by the resolute ex- 
ercise of his free-will, has so disciplined himself as to 
have acquired the habit of virtue ; as the bad man is he 
who, by allowing his free-will to remain inactive, and 
giving the bridle to his desires and passions, has ac- 
quired the habit of vice, by which he becomes, at last, 
bound as by chains of iron. 

A man can only achieve strength of purpose by the 



CHAP. VII.] Freedom of the Individual. 199 

action of his own free-will. If he is to stand erect, it 
must be by his own efforts; for he can not be kept 
propped up by the help of others. He is master of 
himself and of his actions. He can avoid falsehood, 
arid be truthful ; he can shun sensualism, and be con- 
tinent; he can turn aside from doing a cruel thing, and 
be benevolent and forgiving. All these lie within the 
sphere of individual efforts, and come within the range 
of self-discipline. And it depends upon men themselves 
whether in these resjjects they will be free, pure, and 
good, on the one hand ; or enslaved, impure, and miser- 
able, on the other. 

Among the wise sayings of Epictetus we find the fol- 
lowing : " We do not choose our own parts in life, and 
have 'nothing to do with those parts : our simple duty 
is confined to playing them well. The slave may be as 
free as the consul ; and freedom is the chief of bless- 
ings ; it dwarfs all others ; beside it all others are in- 
significant ; with it all others are needless ; without it 
no others are possible. . . . You must teach men that 
happiness is not where, in their blindness and misery, 
they seek it. It is not in strength, for Myro and Ofel- 
lius were not happy; not in wealth, for Croesus was not 
happy; not in power, for the consuls were not happy; 
not in all these together, for Nero and Sardanapalus 
and Agamemnovi sighed and wept and tore their hair, 
and were the slaves of circumstances and the dupes of 
semblances. It lies in yourselves ; in true freedom, in 
the absence or conquest of every ignoble fear ; in per- 
fect self-government; and in a power of contentment 
and peace, and the even flow of life amid poverty, exile, 
disease, and the very valley of the shadow of death."* 

♦ See the Rev. F. W. Farrar's admirable book, entitled "Seekers 
after God " (Sunday Library). The author there says : " Epictetus 
was not a Christian. He has only once alluded to tlie Christians in 
his ^Yorks, and then it is under the opprobrious title of ' Galileans,' 



200 The Spirit of Duty. [CHAP. vil. 

The sense of duty is a sustaining power even to a 
courageous man. It holds him upright, and makes him 
strong. It was a noble saying of Pompey, when his 
friends tried to dissuade him from embarking for Rome 
in a storm, telling him that he did so at the great peril 
of his life : " It is necessary for me to go," he said ; " it 
is not necessary for me to live." What it was right 
that he should do, he would do, in the face of danger 
and in defiance of storms. 

As might be expected of the great Washington, the 
chief motive power in his life was the spirit of duty. 
It was the regal and commanding element in his char- 
acter which gave it unity, compactness, and vigor. When 
he clearly saw his duty before him, he did it at all haz- 
ards, and with inflexible integrity. He did not dt) it 
for effect ; nor did he think of glory, or of fame and its 
rewards ; but of the right thing to be done, and the 
best way of doing it. 

Yet Washington had a most modest opinion of him- 
self; and when offered the chief command of the Amer- 
ican patriot army, he hesitated to accept it until it was 
pressed upon him. When acknowledging in Congress 
the honor which had been done him in selecting him to 
so important a trust, on the execution of which the fu- 
ture of his country in a great measure depended, Wash- 
ington said: "I beg it may be remembered, lest some 
unlucky event should happen unfavorable to my reputa- 
tion, that I this day declare, with the utmost sincerity, I 



who pvactisecl a kind of insensibility in painful circumstances, and an 
indifference to worldly interests, which Epictetus unjustly sets down 
to 'mere habit.' Unhappily, it was not granted to these heathen 
philosophers in any true sense to know what Christianity was. They 
thought that it was an attempt to imitate the results of philosophy, 
without having passed through the necessary discipline. Theyvie\y- 
ed it with suspicion, they treated it with injustice. And yet in 
Christianity, and in Christianity alone, they would have found an 
ideal which would have surpassed their loftiest anticipations," 



CHAP. VII.] Washmgton''s Sense of Duti/. 201 

do not think myself equal to the command I am lionor- 
ed with." 

And in his letter to his wife, communicating to her 
his appointment as commander-in-chief, he said : *' I 
have used every endeavor in my power to avoid it, not 
only from my unwillingness to part with you and the 
family, but from a consciousness of its being a trust too 
great for my capacity ; and that I should enjoy more 
real liappiness in one month with you at home than I 
have the most distant prospect of finding abroad, if my 
stay were to be seven times seven years. But, as it has 
been a kind of destiny that has thrown me upon this 
service, I shall hope that my undertaking it is design- 
ed for some good purpose. It was utterly out of my 
power to refuse the appointment, without exposing my 
character to such censures as would have reflected dis- 
honor upon myself, and given pain to my friends. This, 
I am sure, could not, and ought not, to be pleasing to 
you, and must have lessened me considerably in my own 
esteem."* 

Washington pursued his upright course through life, 
first as commander-in-chief, and afterwards as president, 
never faltering in the path of duty. He had no regard 
for popularity, but held to his purpose through good 
and through evil report, often at the risk of his power 
and influence. Thus, On one occasion, when the ratifi- 
cation of a treaty, arranged by Mr. Jay with Great 
Britain, was in question, Washington was urged to re- 
ject it. But his honor, and the honor of his country, 
was committed, and he refused to do so. A great out- 
cry was raised against the treaty, and for a time Wash- ^ 
ington was so unpopular that he is said to have been I 
actually stoned by the mob. But he, nevertheless, held 
it to be his duty to ratify the treaty ; and it was carried 

* Sparks's "Life of Washington," pp. 141, 142. 
12 



202 Wellington's Ideal of Duty. [chap. vii. 

out in despite of petitions and remonstrances from all 
quarters. " While I feel," he said, in answer to the re- 
monstrants, " the most lively gratitude for the many in- 
stances of approbation from my country, I can no oth- 
erwise deserve it than by obeying the dictates of my 
conscience." 

Wellington's watch-word, like Washington's, was 
duty ; and no man could be more loyal to it than he 
was.* " There is little or nothing," he once said, " in 
this life worth living for; but we can all of ns go 
straight forward and do our duty." ISTone recognized 
more cheerfully than he did the duty of obedience and 
willing service ; for unless men can serve faithfully, they 
will not rule others wisely. There is no motto that be- 
comes the wise man better than Ich dien, " I serve ;" 
and " They also serve who only stand and wait." 

When the mortification of an officer, because of his 
being appointed to a command inferior to what he con- 
sidered to be his merits, was communicated to the duke, 
he said : " In the course of my military career, I have 
gone from the command of a brigade to that of my reg- 
iment, and from the command of an army to that of a 
brigade or a division, as I was ordered, and without 
any feeling of mortification." 

While commanding the allied army in Portugal, the 
conduct of the native population did not seem to Wel- 
lington to be either becoming or dutiful. "We have 
enthusiasm in plenty," he said, " and plenty of cries of 
^VivaP We have illuminations, patriotic songs, and 
fetes everywhere. But what we want is, that each in 



* "Wellington, like Washington, had to pay the penalty of his ad- 
herence to the cause he thought right, in his loss of " popuhirity." 
He was mobbed in the streets of London, and had his windows 
smashed by the mob, -while his wife lay dead in the house. Sir Wal- 
ter Scott also was hooted and pelted at Harwick by " the people," 
amidst the cries of *' Burke Sir Walter!" 



CHAP. VII.] Nelson and Collingioood. 203 

his own station should do his duty faithfully, and pay 
implicit obedience to legal authority." 

This abiding ideal of duty seemed to be the govern- 
ing principle of Wellington's character. It was always 
uppermost in his mind, and directed all the public ac- 
tions of his life. K'or did it fail to communicate itself 
to those under him, who served him in the like spirit. 
When he rode into one of his infantry squares at Wa- 
terloo, as its diminished numbers closed uj) to receive a 
charge of French cavalry, he said to the men, " Stand 
steady, lads ; think of what they will say of us in En- 
gland ;" to which the men replied, " Never fear, sir — 
we know our duty." 

Duty was also the dominant idea in Nelson's mind. 
The spirit in which he served his country was expressed 
in the famous watch-word, " England expects every man 
to do his duty," signalled by him to the fleet before go- 
ing into action at Trafalgar, as well as in the last words 
that passed his lips — "I have done my duty; I praise 
God for it !" 

And Nelson's companion and friend — the brave, sen- 
sible, homely-minded Collingwood — he who, as his ship 
bore down into the great sea-fight, said to his flag- 
captain, " Just about this time our wives are going to 
church in England " — Collingwood too was, like his 
commander, an ardent devotee of duty. "Do your 
duty to the best of your ability," was the maxim which 
he urged upon many young men starting on the voyage 
of life. To a midshipman he once gave the following 
manly and sensible advice : 

"You may depend upon it, that it is more in your 
own power than in_ any body else's to promote both 
your comfort and advancement. A strict and unwea- 
ried attention to your duty, and a complacent and re- 
spectful behavior, not only to jouv superiors but to 
everybody, will insure you their regard, and the re- 



20i Devotion to Duty. [chap. vii. 

f 

ward will surely come ; but if it should not, I am con- 
vinced you have too much good sense to let disappoint- 
ment sour you. Guard carefully against letting discon- 
tent appear in you. It will be sorrow to your friends, 
a triumph to your competitors, and can not be produc- 
tive of any good. Conduct yourself so as to deserve 
the best that can come to you, and the consciousness of 
your own proper behavior will keep you in spirits if it 
should not come. Let it be your ambition to be fore- 
most in all duty. Do not be a nice observer of turns, 
but ever present yourself ready for every thing, and, 
unless your officers are very inattentive men, they will 
not allow others to impose more duty on you than they 
should." 

This devotion to duty is said to be peculiar to the 
English nation ; and it has certainly more or less char- 
acterized our greatest public men. Probably no com- 
mander of any other nation ever Avent into action with 
such a signal flying as Nelson at Trafalgar — not "Glory," 
or " Victory," or " Honor," or " Country," but simply 
"Duty !" How few are the nations wiUing to rally to 
such a battle-cry ! 

Shortly after the wreck of tlie Birkeoihead off the 
coast of Africa, in which the officers and men went 
down firing a feu-de-joie, after seeing the women and 
children safely embarked in the boats, Robertson of 
Brighton, referring to the circumstance in one of his 
letters, said : "Yes! Goodness, Duty, Sacrifice — these 
are the qualities that England honors. She gapes and 
wonders every now and then, like an awkward peasant, 
at some other things — railway kings, electro-biology, 
and other trumperies ; but nothing stirs her grand old 
heart down to . its central deeps universally and long 
except the Right. She puts on her shawl very badly, 
and she is awkward enough in a concert-room, scarce 
knowing a Swedish nightingale from a jackdaw; but — 



CHAP. VII.] National Sense of Duty. 205 

blessings large and long upon her! — she knows how- 
to teach her sons to sink like men amidst sharks and 
billows, without parade, without display, as if Duty 
were the most natural thing in the w^orld; and she 
never mistakes long an actor for a hero, or a hero for 
an actor."* 

It is a grand thing, after all, this pervading spirit of 
Duty in a nation ; and so long as it survives, no one 
need despair of its future. .But when it has departed, 
or become deadened, and been supplanted by thirst for 
pleasure, or selfish aggrandizement, or "glory" — then 
woe to that nation, for its dissolution is near at hand ! 

If there be one point on which intelligent observers 
are agreed more than another as to the cause of the late 
deplorable collapse of France as a nation, it was the ut- 
ter absence of this feeling of duty, as well as of truthful- 
ness, from the mind, not only of the men, but of the lead- 
ers of the French people. The unprejudiced testimony 
of Colonel Stoffel, French military attache at Berlin be- 
fore the w^ar, is conclusive on this point. In his private 
report to the emperor, found at .the Tuileries, which was 
Avritten in August, 1869, about a year before the out- 
break of the war. Colonel Stoffel pointed out that the 
highly-educated and disciplined German people were 
pervaded by an ardent sense of duty, and did not think 
it beneath them to reverence sincerely what was noble 
and lofty ; whereas, in all respects, France presented a 
melancholy contrast. There the people, having sneered 
at every thing, had lost the faculty of respecting any 
thing, and virtue, family life, patriotism, honor, and re- 
ligion, were represented to a frivolous generation as 
only fitting subjects for ridicule.f Alas ! how terribly 

* Robertson's "Life and Letters," ii., 157. 

t We select the following passages from this remarkable report of 
Colonel Stoffel, as being of more than merely temporary interest : 
" Who that has lived here (Berlin) will deny that the Prussians are 



206 Colonel StoffeVs Rejjort [CHAP. VII. 

has France been punished for her sins against truth and 
duty! 

energetic, patriotic, and teeming with youthful vigor; that they are 
not corrupted by sensual pleasures, but are manly, have earnest con- 
victions, do not think it beneath them to reverence sincerely what is 
noble and lofty? What a melancholy contrast does France offer in 
all this ? Having sneered at every thing, she has lost the faculty of 
respecting any thing. Virtue, family life, patriotism, honor, religion, 
are represented to a frivolous generation as fitting subjects of ridicule. 
The theatres have become schools of shamelessness and obscenity. 
Drop by drop poison is instilled into the very core of an ignorant and 
enervated society, which has neither the insight nor the energy left to 
amend its institutions, nor — which would be the most necessary step 
to take — become better informed or more moral. One after the other 
the fine qualities of the nation are dying out. Where is the generosi- 
ty, the loyalty, the charm of our esprit^ and our former elevation of 
soul ? If this goes on, the time will come when this noble race of 
France will be known only by its faults. And France has no idea 
that, while she is sinking, more earnest nations are stealing a march 
upon her, are distancing her on the road to progress, and are prepar- 
ing for her a secondary position in the world. 

'*I am afraid that these opinions will not he relished in France. 
However correct, they differ too much from what is usually said and 
asserted at home. I should wish some enlightened and unprejudiced 
Frenchmen to come to Prussia and make this country their study. 
They Avould soon discover that they were living in the midst of a 
strong, earnest, and intelligent nation, entirely destitute, it is true, of 
noble and delicate feelings, of all fascinating charms, but endowed with 
every solid virtue, and alike distinguished for untiring industry, order, 
and economy, as well as for patriotism, a strong sense of dutj", and 
that consciousness of personal dignity which in their case is so hap- 
pily blended with respect for authority and obedience to the law, 
They would see a country with firm, sound, and moral institutions, 
whose upper classes are worthy of their rank, and, by possessing the 
highest degree of culture, devoting themselves to the service of the 
State, setting an example of patriotism, and knowing how to preserve 
the influence legitimately their own. They would find a State with 
an excellent administration, where every thing is in its right place, 
and where the most admirable order prevails in every branch of the 
social and pohtical system. Prussia may be well compared to a mass- 
ive structure of lofty proportions and astounding solidity, Avhich, 
though it has nothing to delight the eye or speak to the lieart, can 
not but impress us with its grand symmetry, equally observable in its 
broad foundations as in its strong and sheltering roof 

"And what is France? What is French society in these latter 
days? A hurly-burly of disorderly elements, all mixed and jumbled 
together ; a country in which every body claims the right to occupy 
the highest posts, yet few remember that a man to be employed in a 



CHAP. VII.] on the Decadence of France. 207 

Yet the time was when France possessed many great 
men inspired by duty ; but they were all men of a com- 
paratively remote past. The race of Bayard, Dugues- 
clin, Coligny, Duquesne, Turenne, Colbert, and Sully 
seems to have died out and left no lineage. There has 
been' an occasional great Frenchman of modern times 
who has raised the cry of Duty, but his voice has been 
as that of one crying in the wilderness. De Tocque- 
ville was one of such; but, like all men of his stamp, he 
was proscribed, imprisoned, and driven from public life. 
Writing on one occasion to his friend Kergorlay, he 
said : " Like you, I become more and more alive to the 
happiness which consists in the fulfillment of Duty. I 
believe there is no other so deep and so real. There is 
only one great object in the world which deserves our 
efforts, and that is the good of mankind."'-' 



responsible position ought to have a well-balanced mind, onght to be 
strictly moral, to know something of the world, and possess certain 
intellectual powers ; a country in which the highest offices are fre- 
quently held by ignorant and uneducated persons, who either boast 
some special talent, or whose only claim is social position and some 
versatility and address. What a baneful and degrading state of 
things ! And how natural that, while it lasts, France should be full 
of a people without a position, without a calling, who do not know 
Avhat to do with themselves, but are none the less eager to envy and 
malign every one who does. ... 

"The French do not possess in any very marked degree the quali- 
ties required to render general conscription acceptable, or to turn it 
to account. Conceited. and egotistic as they are, the people would 
object to an innovation whose invigorating force they are unable to 
comprehend, and which can not be carried out without virtues which 
they do not possess — self-abnegation, conscientious recognition of 
duty, and a willingness to sacrifice personal interests to the loftier de- 
mands of the country. As the character of individuals is only im- 
proved by experience, most nations require a chastisement before 
they set about reorganizing their political institutions. So Prussia 
wanted a Jena to make her the strong and healthy country she is." 

* Yet even in De Tocqueville% benevolent nature there was a per- 
vading element of impatience. In the very letter in which the above 
passage occurs, he says: "Some persons try to be of use to men 
while they despise tliem, and others because they love them. In the 
senices rendered by the first, there is always something incomplete, 



208 France and Duty. [chap, vii.' 

Although France has been the unquiet spirit among 
the nations of Europe since the reign of Louis XIV., 
there have. from time to time been honest and faithful 
men who have lifted up their voices against the tur- 
bulent, warlike tendencies of the people, and not only 
preached, but endeavored to carry into practice, a; gos- 
pel of peace. Of these, the Abbe de St. Pierre was one 
of the most courageous. He had even the boldness to 
denounce the wars of Louis XIV., and to deny that 
monarch's right to the epithet of " great," for which he 
was punished by expulsion from the Academy. The 
abbe was as enthusiastic an agitator for a system of 
international peace as any member of the modern Soci- 
ety of Friends. As Joseph Sturge went' to St. Peters- 
burg to convert the Emperor of Russia to his views, so 
the abbe wxnt to Utrecht to convert the Conference 
sitting there, to his project for a Diet to secure per- 
petual peace. Of course he was regarded as an enthu- 
siast, Cardinal Dubois characterizing his scheme as "the 
dream of an honest man." Yet the abbe had found his 
dream in the Gospel ; and in what better vv^ay could he 
exemplify the spirit of the Master he served than by 
endeavoring to abate the horrors and abominations of 
war ? The Conference was an assemblage o.f men rep- 
resenting Christian States; and the abbe merely called 
upon them to put in practice the doctrines they profess- 
ed to believe. It was of no use : the potentates and 
their representatives turned to him a deaf ear. 

The Abbe de St. Pierre lived several hundred years 
too soon. But he determined that his idea should not 
be lost, and in lYlS he published his "Project of Per- 

rough, and contemptuous, that inspires neither confidence nor grati- 
tude. I should like to belong to th» second class, but often I can 
not. I love mankind in general, but I constantly m.eet with individu- 
als whose baseness revolts me. I struggle daily against a universal 
contempt for my fellow-cren tares," — Memoirs and Remains of De 
Tocqueville, vol. i., p. 313. (Letter to Kergorlay, Nov. 13th, 1833.) 



CHAP, vil] The Abbe St. Pierre. 209 

petual Peace." He there proposed the formation of a 
European Diet, or Senate, to be composed of represent- 
atives of all nations, before which princes should be 
bomid, before resorting to arms, to state their griev- 
ances and require redress. Writing about eighty years 
after the publication of this project, Volney asked: 
"What is a people? — an individual of the society at 
large. What a war? — a duel between two individual 
people. In what manner ought a society to act v/hen 
two of its members fight? — interfere, and reconcile or 
repress them. In the days of the Abbe de St. Pierre, 
this was treated as a dream ; but, happily for the hu- 
man race, it begins to be realized." Alas for the pre- 
diction of Volney ! The twenty-five years that followed 
the date at wdiich this passage was written, were distin- 
guished by more devastating and furious wars on the 
part of France than had ever been known in the world 
before. 

The abbe was not, however, a mere dreamer. He was 
an active practical philanthropist, and anticipated many 
social improvements which have since become generally 
adopted. He was the original founder of industrial 
schools for poor children, where they not only received 
a good education, but learned some useful trade, by 
which they might earn an honest living when they grew 
up to manhood. He advocated the revision and simpli- 
fication of the whole code of laws — an idea afterwards 
carried out by the First Napoleon. He wrote against 
duelling, against luxury, against gambling, against mo- 
nasticism, quoting the remark of Segrais, that "the ma- 
nia for a monastic life is the small-pox of the mind." 
He spent his whole income in acts of charity — not in 
alms-giving, but in helping poor children, and poor men 
and women, to help themselves. His object always was 
to benefit permanently those whom he assisted. He 
continued his love of truth and his freedom of speech to 



210 Duty and Truthfulness. [chap, yil 

the last. At the age of eiglity he said: "If life is a 
lottery for happiness, my lot has been one of the best." 
When on his death-bed, Voltaire asked him how he felt, 
to which he answered, "As about to make a journey into 
the country." And in this peaceful frame of mind he 
died. But so outspoken had St. Pierre been against 
corruption in high places, that Maupertius, his succes- 
sor at the Academy, was not permitted to pronounce his 
'doge; nor was it until thirty-two years after his death 
that this honor was done to his memory by D'Alembert. 
The true and emphatic epitaph of the good, truth-loving, 
truth-speaking abbe was this — "He loved much!" 

Duty is closely allied to truthfulness of character; 
and the dutiful man is, above all things, truthful in his 
words as in his actions. He says and he does the right 
thing in the right way, and at the right time. 

There is probably no saying of Lord Chesterfield that 
commends itself more strongly to the approval of man- 
ly-minded men, than that it is truth that makes the suc- 
cess of the gentleman. Clarendon, speaking of one of 
the noblest and purest gentlemen of his age, says of 
Falkland^ that he " was so severe an adorer of truth, 
that he could as easily have given himself leave to steal 
as to dissemble." 

It was one of the finest things that Mrs. Hutchinson 
could say of her husband, that he was a thoroughly 
truthful and reliable man: "He never professed the 
thing he intended not, nor promised what he believed 
out of his power, nor failed in the performance of any 
thing that was in his power to fulfill." 

Wellington was a severe admirer of truth. An illus- 
tration may be given. When afflicted by deafness, he 
consulted a celebrated aurist, who, after trying all reme- 
dies in vain, determined, as a last resource, to inject into 
the ear a strong solution of caustic. It caused the most 
intense pain, but the patient bore it with his usual equa- 



CHAP. YII.] Resistance to Falsehood. 211 

iiimity. The family physician accidentally calling one 
day, found the duke with jElushed cheeks and blood-shot 
eyes, and when he rose he staggered about like a drunk- 
en man. The doctor asked to be permitted to look at 
Lis ear, and then he found that a furious inflammation 
was going on, which, if not immediately checked, must 
shortly reach the brain and kill him. Vigorous reme- 
dies were at once applied, and the inflammation was 
checked. But the hearing of that ear w^as completely 
destroyed. When the aurist heard of the danger his 
patient had run, through the violence of the remedy he 
had employed, he hastened to Apsley House to express 
his grief and mortification ; but the duke merely said : 
" Do not say a word more about it — you did ah for the 
best." The aurist said it would be his ruin when it be- 
came known that he had been the cause of so much suf- 
fering and danger to his grace. "But nobody need 
know any thing about it: keej) your own counsel, and, 
depend upon it, I won't say a word to any one." " Then 
your grace will allow me to attend you as usual, which 
will show the public that you have not withdrawn your 
confidence from me ?" " No," replied the duke, kindly 
but firmly; "I can't do that, for that would be a lie." 
He would not act a falsehood any more than he would 
speak one.* 

Another illustration of duty and truthfulness, as ex- 
hibited in the fulfillment of a promise, may be added 
from the life of Blucher. When he was hastening with 
his army over bad roads to the help of Wellington, on 
the 18th of June, 1815, he encouraged his troops by 
words and gestures. "Forward, children — forward!" 
" It is impossible ; it can't be done," was the answer. 
Again and again he urged them. " Children, w^e must 
get on; you may say it can't be done, but it must be 

* Gleig's "Life of Wellington, " pp. 314, 315. 



212 Truth the Bond of Society. [CHAP. vii. 

clone ! I have promised my brother Wellington — prom- 
ised, do you hear ? . You wouldn't have me break 7ny 
loordP^ And it was done. 

Truth is the very bond of society, without which it 
must cease to exist, and dissolve into anarchy and chaos. 
A household can not be governed by lying ; nor can a na- 
tion. Sir Thomas Browne once asked, " Do the devils 
lie ?" " No," was his answer ; " for then even hell could 
not subsist." ISTo considerations can justify the sacri- 
fice of truth, which ought to be sovereign in all the re- 
lations of life. 

Of all mean vices, perhaps lying is the meanest. It is 
in some cases the offspring of perversity and vice, and 
in many others of sheer moral cowardice. Yet many 
persons think so lightly of it that they will order their 
servants to lie for them ; nor can they feel surprised if, 
after such ignoble instruction, they find their servants 
lying for themselves. 

Sir Harry Wotton's description of an ambassador as 
" an honest man sent to lie abroad for the benefit of his 
country," though meant as a satire, brought him into 
disfavor with James I. when it became published ; for 
an adversary quoted it as a principle of the king's re- 
ligion. That it was not Wotton's real view of the duty 
of an honest man, is obvious from the lines quoted at 
the head of this chapter, on " The Character of a Hap- 
py Life," in which he eulogizes the man 

.• " Whose armor is his honest thought, 
1 And simple truth his utmost skill." 

But lying assumes many forms — such as diplomacy, 
expediency, and moral reservation ; and, under one guise 
or another, it is found more or less pervading all classes 
of society. Sometimes it assumes the form of equivo- 
cation or moral dodging — twisting and so stating the 
things said as to convey a false impression — a kind of 



CHAP. VII.] Equivocation and Pretentiousness. 213 

lying which a Frenchman once described as " walking 
round about the truth." 

There are even men of narrow minds and dishonest 
natures, who pride themselves upon their Jesuitical clev- 
erness in equivocation, in their serpent-wise shirking of 
the truth and getting out of moral back-doors, in order 
to hide their real opinions and evade the consequences 
of holding and openly professing them. Institutions or 
systems based upon any such expedients must necessa- 
rily prove false and hollow. " Though a lie be ever so 
well dressed," says George Herbert, " it is ever over- 
come." Downright lying, though bolder and more vi- 
cious, is even less contemptible than such kind of shuf- 
fling and equivocation. 

Untruthfulness exhibits itself in many other forms: 
in reticency on the one hand, or exaggeration on the 
other ; in disguise or concealment ; in pretended concur- 
rence in others' opinions ; in assuming an attitude of 
conformity which is decejDtive ; in making promises, or 
allowing them to be implied, which are never intended 
to be performed ; or even in refraining from speaking 
the truth when to do so is a duty. There are also those 
who are all things to all men, who say one thing and do 
another, like Bunyan's Mr. Facing-both-ways ; only de- 
ceiving themselves when they think they are deceiving 
others — and who, being essentially insincere, fail to 
evoke conlidence, and invariably 'in the end turn out 
failures, if not impostors. 

Others are untruthful in their pretentiousness, and in 
assuming merits which they do not really possess. The 
truthful jnan is, on the contrary, modest, and makes no 
parade of himself and his deeds. When Pitt was in his 
last illness,. the news reached England of the great deeds 
of "Wellington in India. " The more I hear of his ex- 
ploits," said Pitt, " the more I admire the modesty w^ith 
which he receives the praises he merits for them. He 



214 Life of George Wilson. [chap. yii. 

is the only man I ever knew that was not vain of what 
he had done, and yet had so much reason to be so." 

So it is said of Faraday by Professor Tyndall, that 
" pretense of all kinds, whether in life or in philosophy, 
was hateful to him." Dr. Marshall Hall was a man of 
like spirit — courageously truthful, dutiful, and manly. 
One of his most intimate friends has said of him that, 
wherever he met w^itli untruthfulness or sinister motive, 
he would expose it, saying, " I neither will, nor can, give 
my consent to a lie." The question, " right or wrong," 
once decided in his own mind, the right was followed, 
no matter what the sacrifice or the difficulty— neither 
expediency nor inclination weighing one jot in the bal- 
ance. 

There w^as no virtue that Dr. Arnold labored more 
sedulously to instill into young men than the virtue of 
truthfulness, as being the manliest of virtues, as indeed 
the very basis of all true manliness. He designated 
truthfulness as " moral transparency," and he valued it 
more highly than any other quality. When lying was 
detected, he treated it as a great moral offense ; but 
when a pupil made an assertion, he accepted it with 
confidence. "If you say so, that is quite enough; of 
cou7'se I believe your word." By thus trusting and be- 
lieving them, he educated the young in truthfulness ; the 
boys at length coming to say to one another : " It's a 
shame to tell Arnold a lie — he always believes one."* 

One of the most striking instances that could be given 
of the character of the dutiful, truthful, laborious man, 
is presented in the life of the late George Wilson, pro- 
fessor of Technology in the University of Edinburgh.f 
Though we bring this illustration under the head of 
Duty, it might equally have stood under that of Cour- 

* "Life of Arnold,"!., 94. 

t See the " Memoir of George Wilson, M.D., F.R.S.E." By his 
sister (Edinburgh, 1860). 



CHAP. VII.] Wilson's Bodily Sufferings. 215 

age, Cheerfulness, or Industry, for it is alike illustrative 
of these several qualities. 

Wilson's life was, indeed, a marvel of cheerful labori- 
ousness ; exhibiting the power of the soul to triumph 
over the body, and almost to set it at defiance. It 
might be taken as an illustration of the saying of the 
whaling-captain to Dr. Kane, as to the power of moral 
force over physical :." Bless you, sir, the soul will any 
day lift the body out of its boots !" 

A fragile but bright and lively boy, he had scarcely 
entered manhood ere his constitution began to exhibit 
signs of disease. "As early, indeed, as his seventeenth 
year, he began to complain of melancholy and sleepless- 
ness, supposed to be the effects of bile. " I don't think 
I shall live long," he then said to a friend ; " my mind 
will — must work itself out, and the body will soon fol- 
low it." A strange confession for a boy to make ! But 
he gave his physical health no fair chance. His life was 
all brain-work, study, and competition. When he took 
exercise it was in sudden bursts, which did him more 
harm than good. Long walks in the Highlands jaded 
and exhausted him ; and he returned to his brain-work 
unrested and unrefreshed. 

It was during one of his forced walks of some twenty- 
four miles in the neighborhood of Stirling, that he in- 
jured one of his feet, and he returned home seriously 
ill. The result was an abscess, disease of the ankle-joint, 
and long agony, which ended in the amputation of the 
right foot. But he never relaxed in his labors. He w^as 
now writing, lecturing, and teaching chemistry. Rheu- 
matism and acute inflammation of the eye next attacked 
hira, and were treated by cupj^ing, blistering, and col- 
chicum. Unable himself to write, he went on prepar- 
ing his lectures, which he dictated to his sister. Pain 
haunted him day and night, and sleep was only forced 
by morphia. While in this state of general prostration. 



216 Wilson's Unioearying Industry, [chap. vii. 

symptoms of pulmonary disease began to show them- 
selves. Yet he continued to give the weekly lectures to 
which he stood committed to the Edinburgh School of 
Arts. Not one was shirked, though their delivery, be- 
fore a large audience, was a most exhausting duty. 
" Well, there's another nail put into my coffin," was the 
remark made on throwing off his top-coat on returning 
home ; and a sleepless night almost invariably followed. 

At twenty-seven, Wilson was lecturing ten, eleven, or 
more hours weekly, usually with setons or open blister- 
wounds upon him — his " bosom friends," he used to call 
them. He felt the shadow of death upon him, and he 
worked as if his days were numbered. "Don't be sur- 
prised," he wrote to a friend, " if any morning at break- 
fast you hear that I am gone." But while he said so, 
he did not in the least degree indulge in the feeling of 
sickly sentimentality. He worked on as pheerfully and 
hopefully as if in the very fullness of his strength. " To 
none," said he, " is life so sweet as to those who have 
lost all fear to die." 

Sometimes he was compelled to desist from his la- 
bors by sheer debility, occasioned by loss of blood from 
the lungs; but after a few weeks' rest and change of 
air, he would return to his work, saying, " The water is 
rising in the well again !" Though disease had fasten- 
ed on his lungs, and -was spreading there, and though 
suffering from a distressing cough, he went on lectur- 
ing as usual. To add to his troubles, when one day en- 
deavoring to recover himself from a stumble occasioned 
by his lameness, he overstrained his arm, and broke the 
bone near the shoulder. But he recovered from his suc- 
cessive accidents and illnesses in the most extraordinary 
way. The reed bent, but did not break : the storm pass- 
ed, and it stood erect as before. 

There was no worry, nor fever, nor fret about him ; 
but instead, cheerfulness, patience, and unfailing perse- 



CHAP. VI l] Progress of Ms Disease. 217 

verance. His mind, amidst all his sufferings, remained 
perfectly calm and serene. He went about his daily 
work with an apparently charmed life, as if he had the 
strength of many men in him. Yet all the while he 
knew he was dying, his chief anxiety being to conceal 
his state from those about him at home, to whom the 
knowledge of his actual condition would have been inex- 
pressibly distressing. " I am cheerful among strangers," 
he said, " and try to live day by day as a dying man."* 
He went on teaching as before — lecturing to the Ar- 
chitectural Institute and to the School of Arts. One 
day, after a lecture before the latter institute, he lay 
down to rest, and was shortly awakened by the rupture 
of a blood-vessel, which occasioned him the loss of a 
considerable quantity of blood. He did not experience 
the despair and agony that Keats did on a like occa- 
sion,! though he equally knew that the messenger of 

* Such cases are not unusual. We personally knew a young lady, 
a countryAA'oman of Professor Wilson, afflicted by cancer in the 
breast, Avho concealed the disease from her parents lest it should oc- 
casion them distress. An operation became necessary ; and when 
the surgeons called for the purpose of performing it, she herself an- 
swered the door, received them with a cheerful countenance, led them 
up stairs to her room, and submitted to the knife ; and her parents 
knew nothing of the operation until it was all over. But the disease 
had become too deeply seated for recoveiy, and the noble self-denying 
girl died, cheerful and uncomplaining to the end. 

t "One night, about eleven o'clock, Keats returned home in a state 
of strange physical excitement — it might have appeared, to those who 
did not know him, one of fierce intoxication. He told his friend he 
had been outside the stage-coach, had received a severe chill, was a 
little fevered, but added, 'I don't feel it now.' He was easily per- 
suaded to go to bed, and as he leaped into the cold sheets, before his 
head was on the pillow, he shghtly coughed, and said, ' That is blood 
from my mouth ; bring me the candle; let me see this blood.' He 
gazed steadfastly for some moments at the niddy stain, and then, 
looking in his friend's face with an expression of sudden calmness 
never to be forgotten, said, ' I know the color of that blood — it is 
arterial blood. I can not be deceived in that color ; that drop is my 
death-warrant. I must die!'" — Houguton's Life of Keats, ed. 
1867, p. 289. 

In the case of George Wilson, the bleeding was in the first instance 

K 



218 Wilson's Ferseveraiice to the End. [chap. Vli. 

death had come, and was waiting for him. He appear- 
ed at the family meals as usual, and next day he lec- 
tured twice, punctually fulfilling his engagements ; but 
the exertion of speaking was followed by a second at- 
tack of hemorrhage. He nov7 became seriously ill, and 
it was doubted whether he would survive the night. 
But he did survive; and during his convalescence he 
was appointed to an important public office — that of 
Director of the Scottish Industrial Museum, which in- 
volved a great amount of labor, as well as lecturing, in 
his capacity of professor of technology, which he held 
in connection with the office. 

From this time forward, his " dear museum," as he 
called it, absorbed all his surplus energies. While busi- 
ly occupied in collecting models and specimens for the 
museum, he filled up his odds-and-ends of time in lec- 
turing to Ragged Schools, Ragged Kirks, and Medical 
Missionary Societies. He gave himself no rest, either 
of mind or body; and "to die working" was the fate 
he envied. His mind would not give in, but his poor 
body was forced to yield, and a severe attack of hemor- 
rhage — bleeding from both lungs and stomach* — com- 
pelled him to relax in his labors. " For a month, or 
some forty days," he wrote — " a dreadful Lent — the 
wind has blown geographically from 'Araby the blest,' 

from the stomach, though he afterwards suffered from lung hemor- 
rhage like Keats. Wilson afterwards, speaking of the Lives of Lamb 
and Keats, which had just appeared, said he had been reading them 
with great sadness. "There is," said he, "something in the noble 
brotherly love of Charles to brighten, and hallow, and reheve that 
sadness ; but Keat's death-bed is the blackness of midnight, unmiti- 
gated by one ray of light ! " 

* On the doctors, who attended him in his first attack, mistaking 
the hemorrhage from the stomach for hemorrhage from the lungs, he 
wrote : "It would have been but poor consolation to have had as an 
epitaph : 

" Here lies George Wilsou, 

Overtaken by Nemesis ; 
He died uot of Haemoptysis, 

But of Hfematemesis." 



CHAP. VII.] His Love of Worh and Duty. 219 

but thermometrically from Iceland the accursed. I 
have been made a prisoner of war, hit by an icicle in 
the lungs, and have shivered and burned alternately for 
a large portion of the last month, and sj^at blood till I 
grew pale with coughing. Now I am better, and to- 
morrow I give my concluding lecture (on technology), 
thankful that I have contrived, notwithstanding all my 
troubles, to carry on without missing a lecture to the 
last day of the Faculty of Arts, to which I belong."* 

How long was it to last ? He himself began to won- 
der, for he had long felt his life as if ebbing away. At 
length he became languid, weary, and unfit for work ; 
even the writing of a letter cost him a painful effort, 
and he felt " as if to lie down and sleep were the only 
things worth doing." Yet shortly after, to help a Sun- 
day-school, he wrote his "Five Gateways of Knowl- 
edge," as a lecture, and afterwards expanded it into a 
book. He also recovered strength sufiicient to enable 
him to proceed with his lectures to the institutions to 
which he belonged, besides on various occasions under- 
taking to do other people's work. " I am looked upon 
as good as mad," he wrote to his brother, " because, on 
a hasty notice, I took a defaulting lecturer's place at the 
Philosophical Institution, and discoursed on the polari- 
zation of hght. . . . But I like work: it is a family 
weakness." 

Then followed chronic malaise — sleepless nights, days 
of pain, and more spitting of blood. " My only painless 
moments," he says, " were when lecturing." In this state 
of prostration and disease, the indefatigable man. under- 
took to write the " Life of Edward Forbes ;" and he did 
it, like every thing he undertook, with admirable ability. 
He proceeded with his lectures as usual. To an associ- 
ation of teachers he delivered a discourse on the educa- 

* "Mernoir,"' p. 427. 



220 Wilson^s Last Illness and Death, [chap. vii. 

tional value of industrial science. After he had spoken 
to his audience for an hour, he left them to say whether 
he should go on or not, and they cheered him on to an- 
other half-hour's address. "It is curious," he wrote, 
" the feeling of having an audience, like clay in your 
hands, to mould for a season as you please. It is a 
terribly responsible power. ... I do not mean for a 
moment to imply that I am indifferent to the good 
opinion of others — far otherwise; but to gain this is 
much less a concern with me than to deserve it. It 
was not so once. I had no wish for unmerited praise, 
but I was too ready to settle that I did merit it. Now, 
the word Duty seems to me the biggest word in the 
world, and is uppermost in all my serious doings." 

This was written only about four months before his 
death. A little later he wrote : " I spin my thread of 
life from, week to week, rather than from year to year." 
Constant attacks of bleeding from the lungs sapped his 
little remaining strength, but did not altogether disa- 
ble him from lecturing. He was amused by one of his 
friends proposing to put him under trustees for the pur- 
pose of looking after his health. But he would not bo 
restrained from working, so long as a vestige of strength 
remained. 

One day, in the autumn of 1859, he returned from his 
customary lecture in the University of Edinburgh with 
a severe pain in his side. He was scarcely able to crawl 
up stairs. Medical aid was sent for, and he was pro- 
nounced to be suffering from pleurisy and inflammation 
of the lungs. His enfeebled frame was ill able to resist 
so severe a disease, and he sank peacefully to the rest 
he so longed for, after a few days' illness : 

"Wrong not the dead with tears ! 

A glorious bright to-morrow 
Endeth a weary life of pain and son-ow." 

The life of George "Wilson — so admirably and affec- 



CHAP. VII.] His Lines to Dr. John Reid. 221 

tionately related by his sister — is probably one of the 

most marvellous records of pain and long-suffering, and 

yet of persistent, noble, and useful work, that is to be 

found in the whole history of literature. His entire 

career was indeed but a prolonged illustration of the 

lines which he himself addressed to his deceased friend, 

Dr. John Reid, a like-minded man, whose memoir ho 

wrote : 

" Thou wert a daily lesson 

Of courage, hope, and faith ; 
"We wondered at thee liA-ing, 
"VVe envy thee thy death. 

" Thou wert so meek and reverent, 
So resolute of will, 
So bold to bear the uttermost, 
And yet so calm and still." 




CHAPTER VIII. 

TEMPEE. 

" Temper is nine-tenths of Christianity." — Bishop "Wilson. 
* ' Heaven is a temper, not a place. " — Dr. Chalmers. 

"And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, 

Some harshness show ; 
All vain asperities I day by day 

Would wear away, 
Till the smooth temper of my age should be 
Like the high leaves upon the Holly-Tree." — Southet. 

"Even Power itself hath not one-half the might of gentleness." 

Leigh Hunt. 

IT has been said that men succeed in life quite as 
much by their 'temper as by their talents. Howev- 
er this may be, it is certain that their happiness in life 
depends mainly upon their equanimity of disposition, 
their patience and forbearance, and their kindness and 
thoughtfulness for those about them. It is really true 
what Plato says, that in seeking the good of others Ave 
find our own. 

There are some natures so happily constituted that 
they can find good in every thing. There is no calam- 
ity so great but they can educe comfort or consolation 
from it — no sky so black but they can discover a gleam 
of sunshine issuing through it from some quarter or an- 
other ; and if the sun be not visible to their eyes, they 
at least comfort themselves with the thought that it is 
there, though veiled from them for some good and wise 
purpose. 

Such happy natures are to be envied. They have a 
beam in the eye — a beam of pleasure, gladness, religious 



CHAP. VIII.] Cheerfulness of Nature. 223 

cheerfulness, pbilosoi^hy, call it what you will. Sun- 
shine is about their hearts, and their mind gilds with 
ifs own hues all that it looks upon. When they have 
burdens to bear, they bear them cheerfully — not repin- 
ing, nor fretting, nor wasting their energies in useless 
lamentation, but struggling onward manfully, gathering 
up such flowers as lie along their path. 

Let it not for a moment be supposed that men such 
as those we speak of are weak and unreflective. The 
largest and most comprehensive natures are generally 
also the most cheerful, the most loving, the most hope- 
ful, the most trustful. It is the wise man, of large vis- 
ion, who is the quickest to discern the moral sunshine 
gleaming through the darkest cloud. In present evil, he 
sees prospective good ; in pain, he recognizes the effort 
of nature to restore health ; in trials, he finds correc- 
tion and discipline ; and in sorrow and suffering, he 
gathers courage, knowledge, and the best practical wis- 
dom. 

When Jeremy Taylor had lost all — when his house 
had been plundered, and his family driven out-of-doors, 
and all his worldly estate had been sequestrated — he 
could still write thus : " I am fallen into the hands of 
publicans and sequestrators, and they have taken all 
from me; what now? Let me look about me. They 
have left me the sun and moon, a loving wife, and many 
friends to pity me, and some to relieve me ; and I can 
still discourse, and, unless I list, they have not taken 
away my merry countenance and my cheerful spirit, 
and a good conscience ; they have still left me the prov- 
idence of God, and all the promises of the Gospel, and 
my religion, and my hopes of heaven, and my charity to 
them, too ; and still I sleej) and digest, I eat and drink, 
I read and meditate. . . . And he that hath so many 
causes of joy, and so great, is very much in love with 
sorrow and peevishness, who loves all these pleasures, / 



224 Uses of Cheerfulness. [chap. viii. 

and chooses to sit down upon his little handful of 
thorns."* 

Although cheerfulness of disposition is very much a 
matter of inborn temperament, it is also capable of be- 
ing trained and cultivated like any other habit. We 
may make the best of life, or we may make the worst 
of it ; and it depends very much upon ourselves whether 
w^e extract joy or misery from it. There are always 
two sides of life on which we can look, according as we 
choose — the bright side or the gloomy. "We can bring 
the power of the will to bear in making the choice, and 
thus cultivate the habit of being happy or the reverse. 
jWe can encourage the disposition of looking at the 
(brightest side of things, instead of the darkest. And 
/while we see the cloud, let us not shut our eyes to the 
] silver lining. 

The beam in the eye sheds brightness, beauty, and 
joy upon life in all its phases. It shines upon coldness, 
and warms it ; upon suffering, and comforts it ; upon 
ignorance, and enlightens it ; upon sorrow, and cheers 
it. The beam in the eye gives lustre to intellect, and 
brightens beauty 'itself. Without it the sunshine of life 
is not felt, flowers bloom in vain, the marvels of heaven 
and earth are not seen or acknowledged, and creation is 
but a dreary, lifeless, soulless blank. 

While cheerfulness of disposition is a great source of 
enjoyment in life, it is also a great safeguard of charac- 
ter. A devotional writer of the present day, in answer 
to the question. How are we to overcome temptations ? 
says : " Cheerfulness is the first thing, cheerfulness is 
the second, and cheerfulness is the third." It furnishes 
the best soil for the growth of goodness and virtue. It 
gives brightness of heart and elasticity of spirit. It is 
the companion of charity, the nurse of patience, the 

* Jeremy Taylor's " Holy Living." 



CHAP. VIII.] Cheerfulness a Tonic. 225 

mother of wisdom. It is also the best of moral and 
mental tonics. " The best cordial of all," said Dr. Mar- 
shall Hall to one of his patients, "is cheerfulness." 
And Solomon has said that " a merry heart doeth good 
like a medicine." 

When Luther was once aj^plied to for a remedy 
against melancholy, his advice was : " Gayety and cour- 
age — innocent gayety, and rational, honorable courage 
— are the best medicine for young men, and for old 
men too; for all men against sad thoughts."* ISText 
to music, if not before it, Luther loved children and 
flowers. The great gnarled man had a heart as tender 
as a woman's. 

Cheerfulness is also an excellent wearing quality. It 
has been called the bright weather of the heart. It 
gives harmony of soul, and is a perpetual song without 
words. It is tantamount to repose. It enables nature 
to recruit its strength ; whereas worry and discontent 
debilitate it, involving constant wear-and-tear. 

Kow is it that we see such men as Lord Palmerston 
growing old in harness, working on vigorously to the 
end? Mainly through equanimity of temper and ha- 
bitual cheerfulness. They have educated themselves 
in the habit of endurance, of not being easily provoked, 
of bearing and forbearing, of hearing harsh and even 
nnjust things said of them without indulging in undue 
resentment, and avoiding worreting, petty, and self-tor- 
menting cares. An intimate friend of Lord Palmer- 
ston, who observed him closely for twenty years, has 
said that he never saw him angry, with perhaps one 
exception ; and that was when the Ministry responsible 
for the calamity in Afghanistan, of which he was one, 
were unjustly accused by their opponents of falsehood, 
perjury, and willful mutilation of public documents. 

* Micbelet's "Life of Lutlier," pp. 411, 412. 
K2 



226 Great Men Cheerful. [chap. yiii. 

So far as can be learned from biography, men of the 
greatest genius have been for the most part cheerful, 
contented men — not eager for reputation, money, or 
power — but relishing life, and keenly susceptible of en- 
joyment, as we find reflected in their works. Such 
seem to have been Homer, Horace, Virgil, Montaigne, 
Shakspeare, Cervantes. Healthy, serene cheerfulness is 
apparent in their great creations. Among the same 
class of cheerful-minded men may also be mentioned 
Luther, More, Bacon, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and 
Michael Angelo. Perhaps they were happy because 
constantly occupied, and in the pleasantest of all work — 
that of creating out of the fullness and richness of their 
great minds. 

Milton, too, though a man of many trials and suffer- 
ings, must have been a man of great cheerfulness and 
elasticity of nature. Though overtaken by blindness, 
deserted by friends, and fallen upon evil days — "dark- 
ness before, and danger's voice behind " — yet did he not 
bate heart or hope, but " still bore up, and steered right 
onward." 

Henry Fielding was a man borne down through life 
by debt, and difficulty, and bodily suffering ; and yet 
Lady Mary Wortley Montague has said of him that, by 
virtue of his cheerful disposition, she was persuaded he 
" had known more happy moments than any person on 
earth." 

Dr. Johnson, through all his trials and sufferings and 
hard fights with fortune, was a courageous and cheer- 
ful-natured man. He manfully made the best of life, 
and tried to be glad in it. Once, when a clergyman 
was complaining of the dullness of society in the coun- 
try, saying " they only talk of runts " (young cows), 
Johnson felt flattered by the observation of Mrs. 
Thrale's mother, who said, " Sir, Dr. Johnson would 
learn to talk of runts" — meaning that lie was a man 



CHAP. VIII.] Instances of Cheerful Men. 227 

who would make the most of his situation, whatever it 
was. 

Johnson was of opinion that a man grew better as 
he grew older, and that his nature mellowed with age. 
This is certainly a much more cheerful view of human 
nature than that of Lord Chesterfield, who saw life 
through the eyes of a cynic, and held that " the heart 
never grows better by age : it only grows harder." But 
both sayings may be true, according to the point from 
which life is viewed and the temper by which a man is 
governed ; for while the good, profiting by experience, 
and disciplining themselves by self-control, will grow 
better, the ill-conditioned, uninfluenced by experience, 
will only grow worse. 

Sir Walter Scott was a man full of the milk of human 
kindness. Every body loved him. He was never five 
minutes in a room ere the little pets of the family, 
whether dumb or lisping, had found out his kindness 
for all their generation. Scott related to Captain Hall 
an incident of his boyhood which showed the tender- 
ness of his nature. One day, a dog coming towards 
him, he took up a big stone, threw it, and hit the dog. 
The poor creature had strength enough left to crawl up 
to him and lick his feet, although he saw its leg was 
broken. The incident, he said, had given him the bit- 
terest remorse in his after-life; but he added, "An early 
circumstance of that kind, properly reflected on, is calcu- 
lated to have the best effect on one's character through- 
out life." 

" Give me an honest laugher," Scott would say ; and 
he himself laughed the heart's laugh. He had a kind 
word for every body, and his kindness acted all round 
him like a contagion, dispelling the reserve and awe 
which his great name was calculated to inspire. " He'll 
come here," said the keeper of the ruins of Melrose Ab- 
bey to Washington Irving — " he'll come here sometimes. 



228 Dr. Arnold — Sydney Smith, [chap. viii. 

wi' great folks in his compaDy, and the first I'll know 
of it is hearing his voice calling out, * Johnny ! Johnny 
Bower I' And when I go out I'm sure to be greeted 
wi' a joke or a pleasant word. He'll stand and crack 
and laugh wi' me just like an auld wife ; and to think 
that of a man that has such an awftC knowledge o' his- 
tory /" 

Dr. Arnold was a man of the same hearty cordiality 
of manner — full of human sympathy. There was not a 
particle of affectation or pretense of condescension about 
him. " I never knew such a humble man as the doctor," 
said the parish clerk at Laleham ; " he comes and shakes 
us by the hand as if he was one of us." " He used to 
come into my house," said an old woman near Fox How, 
" and talk to me as if I were a lady." 

Sydney Smith was another illustration of the power 
of cheerfulness. He was ever ready to look on the 
bright side of things ; the darkest cloud had to him its 
silver lining. Whether working as country curate or 
as parish rector, he was always kind, laborious, patient, 
and exemplary ; exhibiting in every sphere of life the 
spirit of a Christian, the kindness of a pastor, and the 
honor of a gentleman. In his leisure he employed his 
pen on the side of justice, freedom, education, toleration, 
emancipation ; and his writings, though full of common 
sense and bright humor, are never vulgar ; nor did he 
ever pander to popularity or prejudice. His good spir- 
its, thanks to his natural vivacity and stamina of con- 
stitution, never forsook him ; and in his old age, when 
borne down by disease, he wrote to a friend : " I have 
gout, asthma, and seven other maladies, but am other- 
wise very well." In one of the last letters he wrote to 
Lady Carlisle, he said : " If you hear of sixteen or eight- 
een pounds of flesh wanting an owner, they belong to 
me. I look as if a curate had been taken out of me." 

(jlreat men of science have for the most part been i)a- 



CHAP, viil] Cheerfulness of Men of Oenius. 229 

tient, laborious, cheerful-minded men. Sucli were Gali- 
leo, Descartes, Newton, and Laplace. Euler, the mathe- 
matician, one of the greatest of natural philosophers, was 
a distinguished instance. Towards the close of his life 
he became completely blind ; but he w^ent on writing as 
cheerfully as before, supplying the want of sight by va- 
rious ingenious mechanical devices, and by the increased 
cultivation of his memory, which became exceedingly 
tenacious. His chief pleasure was in the society of his 
grandchildren, to whom he taught their little lessons in 
the intervals of his severer studies. 

In like manner. Professor Kobison, of Edinburgh, the 
first editor of the " Encyclopasdia Britanuica," when dis- 
abled from work by a lingering and painful disorder, 
found his chief pleasure in the society of his grandchild. 
" I am infinitely delighted," he Avrote to James Watt, 
" with observing the growth of its little soul, and par- 
ticularly with its numberless instincts, which formerly 
passed unheeded. I thank the French theorists for 
more forcibly directing my attention to the finger of 
God, which I discern in every awkward movement and 
every w^ayward whim. They are all guardians of his 
life and growth and power. I regret, indeed, that I have 
not time to make infancy and the development of its 
powers my sole study." 

One of the sorest trials of a man's temper and pa- 
tience was that which befell Abauzit, the natural philos- 
opher, while, residing at Geneva — resembling in many 
respects a similar calamity which occurred to Newton, 
and which he bore w^ith' equal resignation. Among oth- 
er things, Abauzit devoted much study to the barometer 
and its variations, with the object of deducing the gen- 
eral laws which regulated atmospheric pressure. Dur- 
ing twenty-seven years he made numerous observations 
daily; recording them on sheets prepared for the pur- 
pose. One day, when a new servant was installed in the 



230 Patience of Abauzit [chap. viii. 

house, she immediately proceeded to display her zeal by 
"putting things to rights." Abauzit's study, among 
other rooms, was made tidy and set in order. When he 
entered it, he asked of the servant, " What have you 
done with the paper that w^s round the barometer?" 
" Oh, sir," was the reply, " it was so dirty that I burnt 
it, and put in its place this paper, which you will see is 
quite new." Abauzit crossed his arms, and after some 
moments of internal struggle, he said, in a tone of calm- 
ness and resignation : " You have destroyed the results 
of twenty-seven years' labor; in future touch nothing 
whatever in this room." 

The study of natural history, more than that of any 
other branch of science, seems to be accompanied by 
unusual cheerfulness and equanimity of temper on the 
part of its votaries ; the result of which is, that the life 
of naturalists is, on the whole, more prolonged than that 
of any other class of men of science. A member of the 
Linnaean Society has informed us that, of fourteen mem- 
bers who died in 1870, two were over ninety, five were 
over eighty, and two were over seventy. The average 
age of all the members who died in that year was seven- 
ty-five. 

Adanson, the French botanist, was about seventy years 
old when the Revolution broke out, and amidst the 
shock he lost every thing — his fortune, his places, and 
his gardens. But his patience, courage, and resignation 
never forsook him. He became reduced to the greatest 
straits, and even wanted food and clothing; yet his ar- 
dor of investigation remained the same. Once, when 
the Institute invited him, as being one of its oldest 
members, to assist at a seance, his answer was that he 
regretted he could not attend for want of shoes. " It 
was a touching sight," says Cuvier, " to see the poor old 
man, bent over the embers of a decaying fire, trying to 
trace characters with a feeble hand on the little bit of 



CHAP. VIII.] Cheerful Workers. 231 

paper which he held, forgetting all the pains of life in 
some new idea in natural history, which came to him 
like some beneficent fairy to cheer him in his loneliness." 
The Directory eventually gave him a small pension, 
which Kapoleon doubled ; and at length easeful death 
came to his relief in his seventy-ninth year. A clause 
in his will, as to the manner of his funeral, illustrates 
the character of the man. He directed that a garland 
of flowers, provided by fifty-eight families whom he had 
established in life, should be the only decoration of his 
coffin — a shght but touching image of the more dura- 
ble monument which he had erected for himself in his 
works. 

Such are only a few instances of the cheerful-working- 
ness of great men, which might, indeed, be multiplied to 
any extent. All large, healthy natures are cheerful as 
well as hopeful. Their example is also contagious and 
diffusive, brightening and cheering all who come within 
reach of their influence. It was said of Sir John Mal- 
colm, when he appeared in a saddened camp in India, 
that " it was like a gleam of sunlight, ... no man left 
him without a smile on his face. He was *boy Mal- 
colm' still. It was impossible to resist the fascination 
of his genial presence."* 

There was the same joyousness of nature about 
Edmund Burke. Once at a dinner at Sir Joshua Rey- 
nolds's, when the conversation turned upon the suitabili- 
ty of liquors for particular temperaments, Johnson said, 
" Claret is for boys, port for men, and brandy for he- 
roes." " Then," said Burke, " let me have claret : I love 
to be a boy, and to have the careless gayety of boyish 
days." And so it is that there are old young men, and 
young old men — some who are as joyous and cheerful 
as boys in their old age, and others who are as morose 

* Sir John Knve's "Lives of Indian Officers." 



232 Basis of Cheerfulness. [CHAP. VIII. 

and cheerless as saddened old men while still in their 
boyhood. 

In the presence of some priggish youths, we have 
heard a cheerful old man declare that, apparently, there 
would soon be nothing but "-old boys" left. Cheerful- 
ness, being generous and genial, joyous and hearty, is 
never the characteristic of prigs. Goethe used to ex- 
claim of goody-goody persons, " Oh ! if they had but 
the heart to commit an absurdity !" This was when he 
thought they wanted heartiness and nature. "Pretty 
dolls !" was his expression when speaking of them, and 
turning away. 

The true basis of cheerfulness is love, hope, and pa- 
tience. Love evokes love, and begets loving-kindness. 
Love cherishes hopeful and generous thoughts of oth- 
ers. It is charitable, gentle, and truthful. It is a dis- 
cern er of good. It turns to the brightest side of things, 
and its face is ever directed towards happiness. It sees 
" the glory in the grass, the sunshine on the flower." It 
encourages happy thoughts, and lives in an atmosphere 
of cheerfulness. It costs nothing, and yet is invaluable ; 
for it blesses its possessor, and grows up in abundant 
happiness in the bosoms of others. Even its sorrows 
are linked with pleasures, and its very tears are sweet. 

Bentham lays it down as a principle, that a man be- 
comes rich in his own stock of pleasures in proportion 
to the amount he distributes to others. His kindness 
will evoke kindness, and his happiness be increased by 
his own benevolence. " Kind words," he says, " cost no 
more than unkind ones. Kind words produce kind ac- 
tions, not only on the j3art of him to whom they are ad- 
dressed, but on the part of him by whom they are em- 
ployed ; and this not incidentally only, but habitually, 
in virtue of the principle of association." .... "It 
may, indeed, happen that the effort of beneficence may 
not benefit those for whom it was intended ; but when 



CHAP. VIII.] Beneficence and Benevolence. 233 

wisely directed, it must benefit the person from whom it 
emanates. Good and friendly conduct may meet with 
an unworthy and ungrateful return ; but the absence of 
gratitude on the part of the receiver can not destroy the 
self -approbation which recompenses the giver, and we 
may scatter the seeds of courtesy ^nd kindliness around 
us at so little expense. Some of them will inevitably 
fall on good ground, and grow up into benevolence in 
the minds of others ; and all of them will bear fruit of 
happiness in the bosom whence they spring. Once blest 
are all the virtues always ; twice blest sometimes."* 

The poet Rogers used to tell a story of a little girl, a 
great favorite with every one who knew her. Some one 
said to her, " Why does every body love you so much ?" 
She answered, " I think it is because I love every body 
so much." This little story is capable of a very wide 
application ; for our happiness as human beings, gener- 
ally speaking, will be found to be very much in propor- 
tion to the number of things we love, and the number 
of things that love us. And the greatest worldly suc- 
cess, however honestly achieved, will contribute compar- 
atively little to happiness unless it be accompanied by 
a lively benevolence towards every human being. 

Kindness is indeed a great power in the world. Leigh 
Hunt has truly said that "Power itself hath not one-half 
the might of gentleness." Men are always best govern- 
ed through their affections. There is a French proverb 
which says that, "Xes hommes se pre7i7ient par la doit- 
ceur/^ and a coarser English one, to the effect that 
"More wasps are caught by honey than by vinegar." 
"Every act of kindness," says Bentham, "is in fact an 
exercise of power, and a stock of friendship laid up ; 
and why should not power exercise itself in the pro- 
duction of pleasure as of pain ?" 

* " Deontology," pp. 130, 131, 144. • 



234 Power of Kindness. [ciiAP.viii. 

Kindness does not consist in gifts, but in gentleness 
and generosity of spirit. Men may give their money 
which comes from the purse, and withhold their kind- 
ness which comes from the heart. The kindness that 
displays itself in giving money does not amount to 
much, and often does, quite as much harm as good; but 
the kindness of true sympathy, of thoughtful help, is 
never without beneficent results. 

The good temper that displays itself in kindfiess must 
not be confounded with softness or silliness. In its best 
form, it is not a merely passive but an active condition 
of being. It is not by any means indifferent, but large- 
ly sympathetic. It does not characterize the lowest and 
most gelatinous forms of human life, but those that are 
the most highly organized. True kindness cherishes 
and actively promotes all reasonable instrumentalities 
for doing practical good in its own time ; and, looking 
into futurity, sees the same spirit working on for the 
eventual elevation and happiness of the race. 

It is the kindly-dispositioned men who are the active 
men of the world, while the selfish and the skeptical, 
who have no love but for themselves, are its idlers. 
Buff on used to say that he w^ould give nothing for a 
young man w^ho did not begin life with an enthusiasm 
of some sort. It showed that at least he had faith in 
something good, lofty, and generous, even if unattain- 
able. 

Egotism, skepticism, and selfishness are always miser- 
able companions in life, and they are especially unnatu- 
ral in youth. The egotist is next door to a fanatic. Con- 
stantly occupied with self, he has no thought to spare 
for others. He refers to himself in all things, thinks of 
himself, and studies himself, until his own little self be- 
comes his own little god. 

Worst of all are the grumblers and growlers at for- 
tune — who find that " whatever is is wa-ong," and will 



GHAP. VIII.] The Shallowness of Discontent. 235 

do nothing to set matters right — who declare all to be 
barren, " from Dan even to Beersheba." These grum- 
blers are invariably found the least efficient helpers in 
the school of life. As the worst workmen are usually 
the readiest to " strike," so the least industrious mem- 
bers of society are the readiest to complain. The worst "* 
wheel of all is the one that creaks. 

There is such a thing as the cherishing of discontent 
until the feeling becomes morbid. The jaundiced see j 
every thing about them yellow. The ill-conditioned ' 
think all things awry, and the whole world out of joint. 
All is' vanity and vexation of spirit. The little girl in 
Punchy who found her doll stuffed with bran, and forth- 
with declared every thing to be hollow, and wanted to 
"go into a nunnery," had her counterpart in real life. 
Many full-grown people are quite as morbidly unreason- 
able. There are those who may be said to "enjoy bad 
health ;" they regard it as a sort of property. They can 
speak of " my headache," " my back-ache," and so forth, '1 
until, in course of time, it becomes their most cherish- 
ed possession. But perhaps it is the source to them of 
much coveted sympathy, without which they might find 
themselves of comparatively little importance in the 
world. 

We have to be on our guard against small troubles, 
which, by encouraging, we are aj)t to magnify into great 
ones. Indeed, the chief source of worry in the world is 
not real but imaginary evil — small vexations and trivial / 
afiiictions. In the presence of a great sorrow, all petty 
troubles disappear; but we are too ready to take some 
cherished misery to our bosom, and to pet it there. 
Very often it is the child of our fancy ; and, forgetful 
of the many means of happiness which lie within our 
reach, we indulge this spoiled child of ours until it mas- 
ters us. We shut the door against cheerfulness, and 
sun-ound ourselves with gloom. The habit gives a col- 



236 Querulousness. [chap. viii. 

oring to our life. We grow querulous, moody, and un- 
sympathetic. Our conversation becomes full of regrets. 
We are harsh in our judgment of others. We are un- 
sociable, and think every body else is so. We make 
our breast a storehouse of pain, which we inflict upon 
ourselves as well as upon others. 

This disposition is encouraged by selfishness : indeed, 
it is, for the most part, selfishness unmingled, without 
any admixture of sympathy or consideration for the 
feelings of those about us. It is simply willfulness in 
the wrong direction. It is willful, because it might be 
avoided. Let the necessitarians argue as they may, 
freedom of will and action is the possession of every 
man and woman. It is sometimes our glory, and very 
often it is our shame : all depends upon the manner in 
which it is used. We can choose to look at the bright 
side of things or at the dark. We can follow good and 
eschew evil thoughts. We can be wrong-headed and 
WTong-hearted, or the reverse, as we ourselves determine. 
The world will be to each one of us very much what we 
make it. The cheerful are its real possessors, for the 
world belongs to those who enjoy it. 

It must, however, be admitted that there are cases be- 
yond the reach of the moralist. Once, when a misera- 
ble-looking dyspeptic called upon a leading physician, 
and laid his case before him, " Oh !" said the doctor, 
" you only want a good hearty laugh : go and see Gri- 
maldi." "Alas !" said the miserable patient, "-T am Gri- 
maldi !" So, when Smollett, oppressed by disease, trav- 
elled over Europe in the hope of finding health, he saw 
every thing through his own jaundiced eyes. " I'll tell 
it," said Smellfungus, "to the world." "You had bet- 
ter tell it," said Sterne, " to your physician." 

The restless, anxious, dissatisfied temper, that is ever 
ready to run and meet care half-way, is fatal to all hap- 
piness and peace of mind. How often do we see men 



CHAP, yiil] The Little Virtues. 237 

and women set themselves about as if with stiff bristles, 
so that one- dare scarcely approach them without fear 
of being pricked ! For want of a little occasional com- 
mand over one's temper, an amount of misery is occa- 
sioned in society which is positively frightful. Thus 
enjoyment is turned into bitterness, and life becomes 
like a journey barefooted among thorns and briers and 
prickles. " Though sometimes small evils," says Rich- 
ard Sharp, " like invisible insects, inflict great pain, and 
a single hair may stop a vast machine, yet the chief secret 
of comfort lies in not suffering trifles to vex us ; and in 
l^rudently cultivating an undergrowth of small pleasures, 
since very few great ones, alas ! are let on long leases."* 

St. Francis de Sales treats the same topic from the 
Christian's point of view. "How carefully," he says, 
" we should cherish the little virtues which spring up 
at the foot of the Cross !" When the saint was asked, 
" What virtues do you mean ?" he replied : " Humility, 
patience, meekness, benignity, bearing one another's bur- 
den, condescension, softness, of heart, cheerfulness, cor- 
diality, compassion, forgiving injuries, simplicity, candor 
— all, in short, of that sort of little virtues. They, like 
unobtrusive violets, love the shade ; like them, are sus- 
tained by dew ; and though, like them, they make little 
show, they shed a sweet odor on all around. "f 

And again he said : " If you would fall into any ex- 
treme, let it be on the side of gentleness. The human 
mind is so constructed that it resists rigor, and yields 
to softness. A mild word quenches anger, as water 
quenches the rage of fire ; and by benignity any soil 
may be rendered fruitful. Truth, uttered with court- 
esy, is heaping coals of fire on the head — or rather, 
throwing roses in the face. How can we resist a foe 
whose weapons are pearls and diamonds ?"J 

* "Letters and Essays," p. 67. 

t "Beauties of St. Francis de Sales." % Ibid. 



238 Cheerfulness and Hope. [chap. viii. 

Meeting evils by anticipation is not the way to over- 
come them. If we perpetually carry our burdens about 
with us, they will soon bear us down under their load. 
When evil comes, we must deal with it bravely and 
hopefully. What Perthes wrote to a young man, who 
seemed to him inclined to take trifles as well as sor- 
rows too much to heart, was doubtless good advice : 
*' Go forward with hope and confidence. This is the 
advice given thee by an old man, who has had a full 
share of the burden and heat of life's day. We must 
ever stand upright, happen what may, and for this end 
we must cheerfully resign ourselves to the varied influ- 
ences of this many-colored life. You may call this lev- 
ity, and you are partly right — for flowers and colors are 
but trifles light as air — but such levity is a constituent 
portion of our human nature, without which it would sink 
under the weight of time. While on earth we must still 
play with earth, and with that which blooms and fades 
upon its breast. .The consciousness of this mortal life be- 
ing but the way to a higher goal by no means precludes 
our playing with it cheerfully; and, indeed, we must do 
so, otherwise our energy in action will entirely fail."* 

Cheerfulness also accompanies patience, which is one 
of the main conditions of happiness and success in life. 
" He that will be served," says George Herbert, " must 
be patient." It was said of the cheerful and patient 
King Alfred, that " good-fortune accompanied him like 
a gift of God." Marlborough's expectant calmness was 
great, and a principal secret of his success as a general. 
" Patience will overcome all things," he wrote to Godol- 
phin, in 1702. In the midst of a great emergency, 
while baffled and opposed by his allies, he said, " Hav- 
ing done all that is possible, we should submit with pa- 
tience." 

* "Life of Perthes," ii., 440. 



CHAP, viil] ^ Pleasures of Hope. 239 

Last and chiefest of blessiDgs is Hope, the most com- 
mon of possessions ; for, as Thales, the philosopher, 
said, " Even those who have nothing else have hope." 
Hope is the great helper of the poor. It has even been 
styled "the poor man's bread." It is also the sustainer 
and inspirer of great deeds. It is recorded of Alexan- 
der the Great that, when he succeeded to the throne of 
Macedon, he gave away among his friends the greater 
part of the estates which his father had left him; and 
when Perdiccas asked him what he reserved for him- 
self, Alexander answered, "The greatest possession of 
all— Hope !" 

The pleasures of memory, however great, are stale 
compared with those of hope ; for hope is the parent of 
all effort and endeavor ; and "every gift of noble origin 
is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath." It may 
be said to be the moral engine that moves the world 
and keeps it in action; and at the end of all there 
stands before us what Robertson of Ellon styled " The 
Great Hope." " If it were not for Hope," said Byron, 
" where would the Future be ?• — in hell ! It is useless 
to say wliere the Present is, for most of us know ; and 
as for the Past, lohat predominates in memory ? — Hope 
baffled. JEi'go, in all human affairs it is Hope, Hope, 
Hope !"* 

* Moore's "Life of Byron," 8vo ed., p. 483. 



CHAPTER IX. 

MANNER — AET. 

*'We must be gentle' now we are gentlemen." — Shakspeaee. 

"Manners are not idle, but the fruit 
Of noble nature and of loyal mind." — Tennyson. 

"A beautiful behavior is better than a beautiful form; it gives a 
higher pleasure than statues and pictures ; it is the finest of the fine 
arts, " — Emerson. 

" Manners are often too much neglected ; they are most important 
to men, no less than to women. . . . Life is too short to get over a 
bad manner ; besides, manners are the shadows of virtues." 

Eev. Sydney Smith. 

MANNER is one of the principal external graces of 
character. It is the ornament of action, and oft- 
en makes the commonest offices beautiful by the way in 
which it performs them. It is a happy way of doing 
things, adorning even the smallest details of life, and 
contributing to render it, as a whole, agreeable and 
pleasant. 

Manner is not so frivolous or unimportant as some 
may think it to be ; for it tends greatly to facilitate the 
business of life, as well as to sweeten and soften social 
intercourse. "Virtue itself," says Bishop Middleton, 
" offends, when coupled with a forbidding manner." 

Manner has a good deal to do with the estimation in 
which men are held by the world ; and it has often 
more influence in the government of others than quali- 
ties of much greater depth and substance. A manner 
at once gracious and cordial is among the greatest aids 
to success, and many there are who fail for want of it ;* 

* Locke thought it of greater importance that an educator of youtli 
should be well-bred and well-tempered, than that he should be either a 
thorough classicist or man of science. Writing to Lord Peterborough 



CHAP. IX.] • Power of Manner. 241 

for a great deal depends upon first impressions; and 
these are usually favorable or otherwise according to a. 
man's courteousness and civility. 

While rudeness and gruffness bar doors and shut 
hearts, kindness and propriety of behavior, in which 
good manners consist, act as an " open sesame " every- 
where. Doors unbar before them, and they are a pass- 
port to the hearts of every body, young and old. 

There is a common saying that "Manners make the 
man ;" but this is not so true as that " Man makes the 
manners." A man may be gruff, and even rude, and 
yet be good at hgart and of sterling character; yet he 
•would doubtless be a much more agreeable, and proba- 
bly a much more useful man, were he to exhibit that 
suavity of disposition and courtesy of manner which 
always gives a finish to the true gentleman. 

Mrs. Hutchinson, in the noble portraiture of her 
husband to which we have already had occasion to re- 
fer, thus describes his manly courteousness and affabil- 
ity of disposition : " I can not say whether he were 
more truly magnanimous or less proud ; he never dis- 
dained the meanest person, nor flattered the greatest ; 
he had a loving and sweet courtesy to the poorest, and 
would often employ many spare hours with the com- 
monest soldiers and poorest laborers ; but still so order- 
ing his familiarity, that it never raised them, to a con- 
tempt, but entertained still at the same time a reverence 
and love of him."* 

A man's manner, to a certain extent, indicates his 
character. It is the external exponent of his inner na- 

as to his son's education, Locke said: "Your lordship would have 
your son's tutor a thorough scholar, and I think it not much matter 
whether he be any scholar or no : if he but understand Latin well, 
and have a general scheme of the sciences, I think that enough. But 
I would have him well-bred and well-tempered.'^ 

* Mrs, Hutchinson's "Memoir of the Life of Lieutenant-colonel 
Hutchinson," p. 32. 



242 Politeness — '■'■Etiquette.'''' ■ ■ [chap, ix, 

ture. It indicates his taste, his feelings, and his tem- 
per, as well as the society to which he has been accus- 
tomed. There is a conventional manner, which is of 
comparatively little importance; but the natural man- 
ner, the outcome of natural gifts, improved by carefal 
self-culture, signifies a great deal. 

Grace of manner is inspired by sentiment, which is 
a source of no slight enjoyment to a cultivated mind. 
Viewed in this light, sentiment is of almost as much 
importance as talents and acquirements, while it is even 
more influential in giving the direction to a man's tastes 
and character. Sympathy is the golden key that un- 
locks the hearts of others. It not only teaches polite- 
ness and courtesy, but gives insight and unfolds wis- 
dom, and may almost be regarded as the crowning 
grace of humanity. 

Artificial rules of politeness are of very little use. 
What passes by the name of " Etiquette " is often of the 
essence of unpoliteness and untruthfulness. It consists 
in a great measure of posture-making, and is easily seen 
through. Even at best, etiquette is but a substitute 
for good manners, though it is often but their mere 
counterfeit. 

Good manners consist, for the most part, in courteous- 
ness and kindness. Politeness has been described as 
the art of showing, by external signs, the internal re- 
gard Ave have for others. But one may be perfectly po- 
lite to another without necessarily having a special re- 
gard for him. Good manners are neither more nor less 
than beautiful behavior. It has been well said that " a 
beautiful form is better than a beautiful face, and a 
beautiful behavior is better than a beautiful form; it 
gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures — it is 
the finest of the fine arts." 

The truest politeness comes of sincerity. It must be 
the outcome of the heart, or it will make no lasting 



CHAP. IX.] True Courtesy. 243 

impression ; for no amount of polish can dispense with 
truthfulness. The natural character must be allowed to 
•appear, freed of its angularities and asperities. Though 
politeness, in its best form, should (as St. Francis de 
Sales says) resemble water — " best when clearest, most 
simple, and without taste " — yet genius in a man will 
always cover many defects of manner, and much will 
be excused to the strong and the original. Without 
genuineness and individuahty, human life would lose 
much of its interest and variety, as well as its manli- 
ness and robustness of character. 

True courtesy is kind. It exhibits itself in the dispo- 
sition to contribute to the happiness of others, and in 
refraining from all that may annoy them. It is grate- 
ful as well as kind, and readily acknowledges kind ac- 
tions. Curiously enough. Captain Speke found this 
quality of character recognized even by the natives of 
Uganda, on the shores of Lake I^yanza, in the heart of 
Africa, where, he says, " Ingratitude, or neglecting to 
thank a person for a benefit conferred, is punishable." 

True politeness especially exhibits itself in regard 
for the personality of others. A man will respect the 
individuality of another if he wishes to be respected 
himself. He will have due regard for his views and 
opinions, even though they differ from his own. The 
well-mannered man pays a compliment to another, and 
sometimes even secures his respect, by patiently listen- 
ing to him. He is simply tolerant and forbearant, and 
refrains from judging harshly ; and harsh judgments of 
others will almost invariably provoke harsh judgments 
of ourselves. 

The unpolite, impulsive man will, however, sometimes 
rather lose his friend than his joke. He may surely be 
pronounced a very foolish person who secures another's 
hatred at the price of a moment's gratification. It was 
a saying of Brunei the engineer — himself one of the 



244: Self -Restraint. [chap. ix. 

kindest-natured of men — that " spite and ill-nature are 
among the most expensive luxuries in life." Dr. John- 
son once said : " Sir, a man has no more right to say • 
an uncivil thing than to act one — no more right to say 
a rude thing to another than to knock him down." 

A sensible, polite person does not assume to be bet- 
ter or wiser or richer than his neighbor. He does not 
boast of his rank, or his birth, or his country ; or look 
down upon others because they have not been born to 
like privileges with himself. He does not brag of his 
achievements or of his calling, or " talk shop " when- 
ever he opens his mouth. On the contrary, in all that 
he says or does he will be modest, unpretentious, unas- 
suming — exhibiting his true character in performing 
rather than in boasting, in doing rather than in talking. 

Want of respect for the feelings of others usually 
originates in selfishness, and issues in hardness and re- 
pulsiveness of manner. It may not proceed from ma- 
lignity so much as from w^ant of sympathy and want of 
delicacy — a want of that perception of, and attention 
to, those little and apparently trifling things by which 
pleasure is given or pain occasioned to others. Indeed, 
it may be said that in self-sacrificingness, so to speak, 
in the ordinary intercourse of life, mainly consists the 
difference between being well and ill bred. 

Without some degree of self-restraint in society a 
man may be found almost insufferable. ]N"o one has 
pleasure in holding intercourse with such a person, and 
he is a constant source of annoyance to those about 
him. For want of self-restraint many men are engaged 
all their lives in fighting with difijculties of their own 
making, and rendering success impossible by their own 
cross-grained ungentleness ; while others, it may be much 
less gifted, make their way and achieve success by sim- 
ple patience, equanimity, and self-control. 

It has been said that men succeed in life quite as 



CHAP. IX.] Practical TJnj^oliteness. 245 

much by their temper as by their talents. However 
this may be, it is certain that their happiness depends 
mainly on their temperament, especially upon their dis- 
position to be cheerful ; upon their complaisance, kind- 
liness of manner, and willingness to oblige others — de- 
tails of conduct which are like the small-change in the 
intercourse of life, and are always in request. 

Men may show their disregard of others in various 
uiipolite ways — as, for instance, by neglect of propriety 
in dress, by the absence of cleanliness, or by indulging 
in repulsive habits. The slovenly, dirty person, by ren- 
dering himself physically disagreeable, sets the tastes 
and feelings of others at defiance, and is rude and un- 
civil, only under another form. 

David Ancillon, a Huguenot preacher of singular at- 
tractiveness, who studied and composed his sermons 
with the greatest care, was accustomed to say " that it 
was showing too little, esteem for the public to take no 
pains in prejDaration, and that a man who should appear 
on a ceremonial-day in his night-cap and dressing-gown 
could not commit a greater breach of civility." 

The perfection of manner is ease — that it attracts no 
man's notice as such, but is natural and unaffected. 
Artifice is incompatible with courteous frankness of 
manner. Rochefoucauld has said that "nothing so 
much prevents our being natural as the desire of ap- 
pearing so." Thus we come round again to sincerity 
and truthfulness, which find their outward expression 
in graciousness, urbanity, kindliness, and consideration 
for the feelings of others. The frank and cordial man 
sets those about him at their ease. He warms and ele- 
vates them by his presence, and wins all hearts. Thus 
manner, in its highest form, like character, becomes a 
genuine motive power. 

" The love and admiration," says Canon Kingsley, 
"which that truly brave and loving man, Sir Sydney 



"^ 



246 Indications of Self -Respect [chap. ix. 

Smith, won from every one, ricli and poor, with whom 
he came in contact, seems to have arisen from the one 
fact that, without, perhaps, having any such conscious 
intention, he treated rich and poor, his own servants and 
the noblemen his guests, alike, and alike courteously, 
considerately, cheerfully, affectionately — so leaving a 
blessing, and reaping a blessing, wherever he went." 

Good manners are usually supposed to be the peculiar 
characteristic of persons gently born and bred, and of 
persons moving in the higher rather than in the lower 
spheres of society. And this is no doubt to a great ex- 
tent true, because of the more favorable surroundings 
of the former in early life. But there is no reason why 
the poorest classes should not practise good manners 
towards each other as well as the richest. 

Men who toil with their hands, equally with those 
who do not, may respect themselves and respect one 
another ; and it is by their demeanor to each other — 
in other words, by their manners — that self-respect as 
well as mutual respect are indicated. There is scarcely 
a moment in their lives the enjoyment of which might 
not be enhanced by kindliness of this sort — in the work- 
shop, in the street, or at home. The civil workman will 
exercise increased power among his class, and gradually 
induce them to imitate him by his persistent steadiness, 
civility, and kindness. Thus Benjamin Franklin, when 
a working-man, is said to have reformed the habits of 
an entire workshop. 

. One may be polite and gentle with very little money 
in his purse. Politeness goes far, yet costs nothing. It 
is the cheapest of all commodities. It is the humblest 
of the fine arts, yet it is so useful and so pleasure-giving 
that it might almost be ranked among the humanities. 

Every nation may learn something of others ; and if 
there be one thing more than another that the English 
working-class might afford to copy with advantage from 



CHAP. IX.] Politeness of Foreigners. 247 

their Continental neighbors, it is their politeness. The 
French and Germans, of even the humblest classes, are 
gracious in manner, complaisant, cordial, and well-bred. 
The foreign workman lifts his cap and respectfully sa- 
lutes his fellow- workman in passing. There is no sacri- 
fice of manliness in this, but grace and dignity. Even 
the lowest poverty of the foreign work-people is not 
misery, simj^ly because it is cheerful. Though not re- 
ceiving one-half the income which our working-classes 
do, they do not sink into wretchedness and drown their 
troubles in drink ; but contrive to make the best of life, 
and to enjoy it even amidst poverty. 

Good taste is a true economist. It may be practised 
on small means, and sweeten the lot of labor as well as 
of ease. It is all the more enjoyed, indeed, when associ- 
ated with industry and the performance of duty. Even 
the lot of poverty is elevated by taste. It exhibits itself 
in the economies of the household. It gives brightness 
and grace to the humblest dwelling. It produces refine- 
ment, it engenders good-will, and creates an atmosphere 
of cheerfulness. Thus good taste, associated with kind- 
liness, sympathy, and intelligence, may elevate and adorn 
even the lowliest lot. 

The first and best school of manners, as of character, 
is always the Home, where woman is the teacher. The 
manners of society at large are but the reflex of the ^ 
manners of our collective homes, neither better nor 
worse. Yet, with all the disadvantages of ungenial 
homes, men may practise self-culture .of manner as of 
intellect, and learn by good examples to cultivate a 
graceful and agreeable behavior towards others. Most 
men are like so many gems in the rough, which need 
polishing by contact with other and better natures, to 
bring out their full beauty and lustre. Some have but 
one side polished, sufficient only to show the delicate 
graining of the interior; but to bring out the full quali- 



248 Instinctive Tact of Women. [CHAP. IX. 

ties of the gem needs the discipline of experience, and 
contact with the best examples of character in the inter- 
course of daily life. 

A good deal of the success of manner consists in tact ; 
and it is because women, on the whole, have greater tact 
than men, that they prove its most influential teachers. 
They have more self-restraint than men, and are natu- 
rally more gracious and polite. They possess an intu- 
itive quickness and readiness of action, have a keener 
insight into character, and exhibit greater discrimination 
and address. In matters of social detail aptness and 
dexterity come to them like nature; and hence well- 
mannered men usually receive their best culture by mix- 
iug in the society of gentle and adroit women. 

Tact is an intuitive art of manner, which carries one 
through a difficulty better than either talent or knowl- 
edge. " Talent," says a public writer, ** is power : tact 
is skill. Talent is weight : tact is momentum. Talent 
knows what to do: tact knows how to do it. Talent 
makes a man respectable: tact makes him respected. 
Talent is wealth : tact is ready-money." 

The difference between a man of quick tact and of 
no tact Avhatever v/as exemplified in an interview which 
once took place between Lord Palmerston and Mr. 
Behnes, the sculptor. At the last sitting which Lord 
Palmerston gave him, Behnes opened the conversation 
with — " Any news, my lord, from France ? How do we 
stand with Louis Napoleon?" The Foreign Secretary 
raised his eyebrows for an instant, and quietly replied, 
" Really, Mr. Behnes, I don't know : I have not seen the 
newspapers !" Poor Behnes, with many excellent qual- 
ities and much real talent, was one of the many men 
who entirely missed their way in life through want of 
tact. 

Such is the power of manner, combined with tact, 
that Wilkes, one of the ugliest of men, used to say that. 



CHAP. IX.] Suj^erficiality of Manner. 2'i9 

in winning the graces of a lady, there was not more than 
three days' difference between him and the handsomest 
man in England. 

But this reference to Wilkes reminds ns that too 
much importance must not be attached to manner, for 
it does not afford any genuine test of character. The 
well-mannered man may, like Wilkes, be merely acting 
a part, and that for an immoral purpose. Manner, like 
other fine arts, gives pleasure, and is exceedingly agree- 
able to look upon ; but it may be assumed as a disguise, 
as men " assume a virtue though they have it not." It 
is but the exterior sign of good conduct, but may be no 
more than skin-deep. The most highly-polished person 
may be thoroughly depraved in heart; and his super- 
fine manners may, after all, only consist in pleasing ges- 
tures and in fine phrases. 

On the other hand, it must be acknowledged that 
some of the richest and most generous natures have 
been wanting in the graces of courtesy and politeness. 
As a rough rind sometimes covers the sweetest fruit, so 
a rough exterior often conceals a kindly and hearty na- 
ture. The blunt man may seem even rude in manner, 
and yet at heart be honest, kind, and gentle. 

John Knox and Martin Luther were by no means 
distinguished for their urbanity. They had work to do 
which needed strong and determined rather than well- 
mannered men. Indeed, they were both thought to be 
unnecessarily harsh and violent in their manner. "And 
who art thou," said Mary Queen of Scots to Knox, 
" that presumest to school the nobles and sovereign of 
this realm ?" " Madam," replied Knox, " a subject born 
within the same." It is said that his boldness, or rough- 
ness, more than once made Queen Mary weep. When 
Regent Morton heard of this, he said, " Well, 'tis better 
that women should weep than bearded men." 

As Knox was retiring from the queen's presence on 
L2 



250 John Knox and Martin Luther, [chap. ix. 

one occasion he overheard one of the royal attendants 
say to another, " He is not afraid !" Turning round 
upon them, he said : "And why should the pleasing 
face of a gentleman frighten me ? I have looked on the 
faces of angry men, and yet have not been .afraid be- 
yond measure." When the Reformer, worn out by ex- 
cess of labor and anxiety, was at length laid to his rest, 
the regent, looking down into the open grave, exclaim- 
ed, in words which made a strong impression from their 
aptness and truth — " There lies he who never feared the 
face of man !" 

Luther also was thought by some to be a mere com- 
pound of violence and ruggedness. But, as in the case 
of Knox, the times in which he lived were rude and 
violent, and the work he had to do could scarcely have 
been accomplished with gentleness and suavity. To 
rouse Europe from its lethargy, he had to speak and to 
write with force, and even vehemence. Yet Luther's 
vehemence was only in words. His apparently rude 
exterior covered a warm heart. In private life he was 
gentle, loving, and affectionate. He was simple and 
homely, even to commonness. Fond of all common 
pleasures and enjoyments, he was any thing but an au- 
stere man or a bigot ; for he was hearty, genial, and 
even "jolly." Luther was the common people's hero in 
his lifetime, and he remains so in Germany to this day. 

Samuel Johnson was rude and often gruff in manner. 
But he had been brought up in a rough school. Pov- 
erty in early life had made him acquainted with strange 
companions. He had wandered in the streets with Sav- 
age for nights together, unable between them to raise 
money enough to pay for a bed. When his indomita- 
ble courage and industry at length secured for him a 
footing in society, he still bore upon him the scars of 
his early sorrows and struggles. He was by nature 
strong and robust, and his experience made him unac- 



CHAP. IX.] Jolinson^s Gruffness. 251 

commodating and self-asserting. When he was once 
asked why he was not invited to dine out as Garrick 
was, he answered, " Because great lords and ladies did 
not like to have their mouths stopped ;" and Johnson 
Avas a notorious mouth-stopper, though what he said 
was always worth listening to. 

Johnson's companions spoke of him as "Ursa Major;" 
but, as Goldsmith generously said of him, "No man 
alive has a more tender heart; he has nothing of the 
bear about him but his skin." The kindliness of John- 
son's nature was shown on one occasion by the manner 
in which he assisted a supposed lady in crossing Fleet 
Street. He gave her his arm and led her across, not 
observing that she was in liquor at the time. But the 
spirit of the act was not the less kind on that account. 
On the other hand, the conduct of the book-seller on 
whom Johnson once called to solicit employment, and 
who, regarding his athletic but uncouth person, told 
him he had better "go buy a porter's knot and carry 
trunks," in howsoever bland tones the advice might 
have been communicated, was simply brutal. 

While captiousness of manner, and the habit of dis- 
puting and contradicting every thing said, is chilling and 
repulsive, the opposite habit of assenting to, and sympa- 
thizing with, every statement made, or emotion express- 
od, is almost equally disagreeable. It is unmanly, and 
is felt to be dishonest. "It may seem difficult," says 
Richard Sharp, " to steer always between bluntness and 
plain-dealing, between giving merited praise and lavish- 
ing indiscriminate flattery ; but it is very easy — good-hu- 
mor, kind-heartedness, and perfect simplicity, being all 
that are requisite to do what is right in the right way."* 

At the same time many are unpolite, not because they 
mean to be so, but because they are awkward, arid per- 

* " Letters and Essays," p. 59. 



252 Shyness and Reserve. [chap. ix. 

haps know no better. Thus, when Gibbon had publish- 
ed the second and third volumes of his "Decline and 
Fall," the Duke of Cumberland met him one day, and 
accosted him with, "How do you do, Mr. Gibbon? I 
see you are always at it in the old way — scribble, scrib- 
ble, scribble /" The duke probably intended to pay the 
author a compliment, but did not know how better to 
do it than in this blunt and apparently rude way. 

Again, many persons are thought to be stiff, reserved, 
and proud, when they are only shy. Shyness is charac- 
teristic of most people of Teutonic race. It has been 
styled " the English mania," but it pervades, to a great- 
er or less degree, all the Northern nations. The ordina- 
ry Englishman, when he travels abroad, carries his shy- 
ness with him. He is stiff, awkward, ungraceful, -unde- 
monstrative, and apparently unsympathetic ; and though 
he may assume a brusqueness of manner, the shyness is 
there, and can not be w^holly concealed. The naturally 
graceful and intensely social French can not understand 
such a character ; and the Englishman is their standing- 
joke — the subject of their most ludicrous caricatures. 
George Sand attributes the rigidity of the natives of 
Albion to a stock oifluide Britamiiqiie which they car- 
ry about with them, that renders them impassive under 
all circumstances, and " as impervious to the atmosphere 
of the regions they traverse as a mouse in the centre of 
an exhausted receiver,"* 

The average Frenchman or Irishman excels the aver- 
age Englishman, German, or American in courtesy and 
ease of manner, simply because it is his nature. They 
are more social and less self-dependent than men of 
Teutonic origin, more demonstrative and less reticent ; 
they are more communicative, conversational, and freer 
in their intercourse with each other in all respects; 

— — • -% 

* ' ' Lettres d'un Voyageur. " 



CHAP. IX.] Teutonic Shyness. 253 

while men of German race are comparatively stiff, re- 
served, sliy, and awkward. At the same time, a people 
may exhibit ease, gayety, and sprighthness of character, 
and yet possess no deeper qualities calculated to inspire 
respect. They may have every grace of manner, and 
yet be heartless, frivolous, selfish. The character may 
be on the surface only, and without any solid qualities 
for a foundation. 

There can be no doubt as to which of the two sorts 
of peo^^le — the easy and graceful, or the stiff and awk- 
ward — it is most agreeable to meet, either in business, 
in society, or in the casual intercourse of life. Which 
make the fastest friends, the truest men of their word, 
the most conscientious performers of their duty, is an 
entirely different matter. 

The dry, gauche Englishman — to use the French 
phrase, V Anglais empttre — is certainly a somewhat dis- 
agreeable person to meet at first. He looks as if he had 
swallowed a poker. He is shy himself, and the cause of 
shyness in others. He is stiff, not because he is proud, 
but because he is shy; and he can notshake it off, even- 
if he would. Indeed, we should not be surprised to find 
that even the clever writer who describes the English 
Philistine in all his enormity of awkward manner and 
absence of grace were himself as shy as a bat. 

When two shy men meet, they seem like a couple of 
icicles. They sidle away and turn their backs on each 
other in a room, or, when travelling, creep into the op- 
posite corners of a railway-carriage. When shy En- 
glishmen are about to start on a journey by railway, 
they walk along the train, to discover an empty com- 
partment in which to bestow themselves; and when 
once ensconced, they inwardly hate the next man who 
comes in. So, on entering the dining-room of their 
club, each shy man looks out for an unoccupied table, 
until sometimes all the tables in the room are occupied 



254 ^^Respectful Uneasiness. ''^ [chap. ix. 

by single diners. All this apparent uusociableness is 
merely shyness — the national characteristic of the En- 
glishman. 

" The disciples of Confucius," observes Mr. Arthur 
Helps, " say that, when in the presence of the prince, his 
manner displayed respectful uneasmess. There could 
hardly be given any two words which more fitly de- 
scribe the manner of most Englishmen when in socie- 
ty." Perhaps it is due to this feeling that Sir Henry 
Taylor, in his " Statesman," recommends that, in the 
management of interviews, the minister should be as 
" near to the door " as possible ; and, instead of bowing 
his visitor out, that he should take refuge, at the end of 
an interview, in the adjoining room. "Timid and em- 
barrassed men," he says, " will sit as if they were rooted 
to the spot, when they are conscious that they have to 
traverse the length of a room in their retreat. In ev- 
ery case, an interview will find a more easy and pleas- 
ing termination when the door is at hand as the last 
words are spoken."* 

The late Prince Albert, one of the gentlest and most 
amiable, was also one of the most retiring of men. He 
struggled much against his sense of shyness, but was 
never able either to conquer or conceal it. His biog- 
rapher, in explaining its causes, says : " It was the shy- 
ness of a very delicate nature, that is not sure it will 
please, and is without the confidence and the vanity 
which often go to form characters that are outwardly 
more genial."f 

But the Prince shared this defect with some of the 
greatest of Englishmen. Sir Isaac Newton was prob- 
ably the shyest man of his age. He kept secret for a 
time some of his greatest discoveries, for fear of the no- 

* Sir Henry Taylor's " Statesman," p. 59. 

t Introduction to the "Principal Speeches and Addresses of His 
Royal Highness the Prince Consort," 18G2. 



CHAP. IX.] Shaks2:)eare^ s Shyness. 255 

toriety they might bring him. His discovery of the 
Binomial Theorem and its most important applications, 
as Avell as his still greater discovery of the Law of 
Gravitation, were not published for years after they 
were made; and when he commmiicated to Collins his 
solution of the theory of the moon's rotation round the 
earth, he forbade him to insert his name in connection 
with it in the " Philosophical Transactions," saying, " It 
would, perhaps, increase my acquaintance — the thing 
which I chiefly study to decline." 

From all that can be learned of Shakspeare, it is to 
be inferred that he was an exceedingly shy man. The 
manner in which his plays were sent into the world — 
for it is not known that he edited or authorized the 
publication of a single one of them — and the dates at 
which they respectively appeared, are mere matters of 
conjecture. His appearance in his own plays in second 
and even third-rate parts — his indifference to reputa- 
tion, and even his apparent aversion to be held in re- 
pute by his contemporaries — his disappearance from 
London (the seat and centre of English histrionic art) 
so soon as he had realized a moderate competency — 
and his retirement about the age of forty, for the re- 
mainder of his days, to a life of obscurity in a small 
town in the midland counties — all seem to unite in 
proving the shrinking nature of the man, and his uncon- 
querable shyness. 

It is also probable that, besides being shy — and his 
shyness may, like that of Byron, have been increased 
by his limp — Shakspeare did not possess in any high 
degree the gift of Hope. It is a remarkable circum- 
stance that, while the great dramatist has, in the course 
of his writings, copiously illustrated all other gifts, af- 
fections, and virtues, the passages are very rare in 
which Hope is mentioned, and then it is usually in a 
desponding and despairing tone, as when he says : 



256 ShaJcspeare^s Hopelessness. [CHAP. ix. 

" The miserable hath no other medicine, 
But only Hope." 

Many of his sonnets breathe the spirit of despair and 
hopelessness.* He laments his lameness ;f apologizes 
for his profession as an actor ;J; expresses his "fear of 
trust " in himself, and his hopeless, perhaps misplaced, 
affection ;§ anticipates a " coffined doom ;" and utters 
his profoundly pathetic cry " for restful death." 

It might naturally be supposed that Shakspeare's 
profession of an actor, and his repeated appearances in 

* "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 

I all alone between my outcast state, 
And troubled deaf heaven with my bootless cries. 

And look upon myself and curse my fate ; 
Wishing me like to one more rich in Hope, 

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed. 
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 

With what I most enjoy, contented least ; 
Yet in these 'thoughts, myself almost despising, 

Haply I think on thee," etc. — Sonnet xxix. 

" So I, made lame by sorrow's dearest spite," etc. — Sonnet xxxvi. 

t "And strength, by limping sway disabled," etc. — Sonnet Ixvi. 

" Speak oi my lameness, and I straight will halt." — Sonnet Ixxxix. 

J "Alas ! 'tis true, I have gone here and there, 

And made myself a motley to the view, 
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear. 
Made old offenses of affections new," etc. — Sonnet ex. 

" Oh, for my sake do you with fortune chide ! 
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds. 
That did not better for my life provide. 

Than public means, which public manners breed; 
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 

And almost thence my nature is subdued, 
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand, " etc. 

Sonnet cxi. 

§ "In our two loves there is but one respect, 

Though in our loves a separable spite, 
Which though it alter not love's sole effect ; 

Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight, 
I may not evermore acknowledge thee. 

Lest 7ny bewailed guilt should do thee shame." 

Sonnet xxxn. 



CHAP. IX.] Mathews — Byron — Whately. . 257 

public, would speedily overcome his shyness, did such 
exist. But inborn shyness, when strong, is not so eas- 
ily conquered.* Who could have believed that the 
late Charles Mathews, who entertained crowded houses 
night after night, was naturally one of the shyest of 
men ? He would even make long circuits (lame though 
he was) along the by-lanes of London to avoid recogni- 
tion. His wife says of him that he looked " sheepish " 
and confused if recognized; and that his eyes would 
fall, and his color would mount, if he heard his name 
even whispered in passing along the streets.f 

ISTor would it at first sight have been supposed that 
Lord Byron was affected with shyness, and yet he was 
a victim to it — his biographer relating that, while on a 
visit to Mrs. Pigot, at Southwell, when he saw strangers 
approaching, he would instantly jump out of the win- 
dow, and escape on to the lawn to avoid them. 

But a still more recent and striking instance is that 
of the late Archbishop Whately, who, in the early part 
of his life, was painfully oppressed by the sense of shy- 
ness. When at Oxford, his white, rough coat and 
white hat obtained for him the sobriquet of " The 
White Bear ;" and his manners, according to his own 
account of himself, corresponded with the appellation. 
He was directed, by way of remedy, to copy the exam- 
ple of the best-mannered men he met in society ; but 
the attempt to do this only increased his shyness, and 
he failed. He found that he was all the while thinking 
of himself, rather than of others ; whereas thinking of 

* It is related of Garrick that, when subpoenaed on Baretti's trial, 
and required to give his evidence before the court — though he had 
been accustomed for thirty years to act with the greatest self-pos- 
session in the presence of thousands — he became so peq^lexed and 
confused that he was actually sent from the witness-box by the judge 
as a man from whom no evidence could be obtained. 

t Mrs. Mathews's "Life and Correspondence of Charles Mathews" 
(ed. 1860), p. 232. 



258 Archbishop Whately. [chap. IX. 

others, rather than of one's self, is of the true essence 
of politeness. 

Finding that he was making no progress, Whately 
was driven to utter despair ; and then he said to him- 
self, " Why should I endure this torture all my life to 
no purpose? I would bear it still if there was any 
success to be hoped for ; but since there is not, I will 
die quietly, without taking any more doses. I have 
tried my very utmost, and find that I must be as awk- 
ward as a bear all my life, in spite of it. I will en- 
deavor to think as little about it as a bear, and make 
up my mind to endure what can't be cured." From 
this time forth he struggled to shake off all conscious- 
ness as to manner, and to disregard censure as much 
as possible. In adopting this course, he says : " I suc- 
ceeded beyond my expectations ; for I not only got rid 
of the personal suffering of shyness, but also of most 
of those faults of manner which consciousness jDroduces ; 
and acquired at once an easy and natural manner — 
careless, indeed, in the extreme, from its originating in 
a stern defiance of opinion, which I had convinced my- 
self must be ever against me ; rough and awkward, for 
smoothness and grace are quite out of my way, and, of 
course, tutorially pedantic; but unconscious, and therefore 
giving expression to that good-will towards men which I 
really feel ; and these, I believe, are the main points."* 

Washington, who was an Englishman in his lineage, 
was also one in his shyness. He is described incident- 
ally by Mr. Josiah Quincy as " a little stiff in his per- 
son, not a little formal in his manner, and not partic- 
ularly at ease in the presence of strangers. He had the 
air of a country gentleman not accustomed to mix much 
in society, perfectly polite, but not easy in his address 
and conversation, and not graceful in his movements." 

* Archbisliop Whately's " Commoniilace Book." 



CHAP. IX.] Nathaniel Hawthorne. 259 

Although we are not accustomed to think of modern 
Americans as shy, the most distinguished American 
author of our time was probably the shyest of men. 
Nathaniel Hawthorne was shy to the extent of morbid- 
ity. We have observed him, when a stranger entered 
the room where he was, turn his back for the purjDOse 
of avoiding recognition. And yet, when the crust of 
his shyness was broken, no man could be more cordial 
and genial than Hawthorne. 

We observe a remark in one of Hawthorne's lately 
published " Xote-books,"* that on one occasion he met 
Mr. Helps in society, and found him " cold." And 
doubtless Mr. Helps thought the same of him. It was 
only the case of two shy men meeting, each thinking 
the other stiff and reserved, and parting before their 
mutual film of shyness had been removed by a little 
friendly intercourse. Before pronouncing a hasty judg- 
ment in such cases, it would be well to bear in mincl 
the motto of Helvetius, which Bentham says proved 
such a real treasure to him : '•'■Pour aimer les hommes, 
ilfaut attendre peuy 

We have thus far spoken of shyness as a defect. But 
there is another way of looking at it ; for even shyness 
has its bright side, and contains an element of good. 
Shy men and shy races are ungraceful and undemon- 
strative, because, as regards society at large, they are 

* Emerson is said to have had Nathaniel Hawthorne in his mind 
•when writing the following passage in his "Society and Solitude:" 
" The most agreeable compliment you could pay him was to imply 
that you had not observed him in a house or a street where you had 
met him. While he suffered at being seen where he was, he consoled 
himself with the delicious thought of the inconceivable number of 
places where he was not. All he wished of his tailor was to provide 
that sober mean of color and cut which would never detain the eye 
for a moment. . . . He had a remorse, running to despair, of his 
social gaucheries, and Avalked miles and miles to get the twitchings 
out of his filce, and the starts and shrugs out of his arms and shoul- 
ders. 'God may forgive sins,' he said, 'but awkwardness has no 
forgiveness in heaven or earth.'" 



260 English Love of Home. [chap. ix. 

comparatively unsociable. They do not possess those 
elegances of manner, acquired by free intercourse, which 
distinguish the social races, because their tendency is 
to shun society rather than to seek it. They are shy 
in the presence of strangers, and shy even in their own 
families. They hide their affections under a robe of 
reserve; and when they do give way to their feelings, 
it is only in some very hidden inner chamber. And yet 
the feelings are there, and not the less healthy and gen- 
uine that they are not made the subject of exhibition 
to others. 

It was not a little characteristic of the ancient Ger- 
mans that the more social and demonstrative peoples 
by whom they were surrounded should have character- 
ized them as the Kiemec, or Dumb men. And the 
same designation might equally apply to the modern 
English, as compared, for example, with their nimbler, 
more communicative and vocal, and in all respects, more 
social, neighbors, the modern French and Irish. 

But there is one characteristic which marks the En- 
glish people, as it did the races from which they have 
mainly sprung, and that is their intense love of Home. 
Give the Englishman a home, and he is comparatively 
indifferent to society. For the sake of a holding which 
he can call his own, he will cross the seas, plant himself 
on the prairie or amidst the primeval forest, and make 
for himself a home. The solitude of the wilderness 
has no fears for him ; the society of his wife and fami- 
ly is sufficient, and he cares for no other. Hence it is 
that the people of Germanic origin, from whom the 
English and Americans have alike sprung, make the 
best of colonizers, and are now rapidly extending them- 
selves as emigrants and settlers in all parts of tlie hab- 
itable globe. 

The French have never made any progress as col- 
onizers, mainly because of their intense social instincts 



CHAP. XI.] French Sociability. 261 

— the secret of their graces of manner — and because 
they can never forget that they are Frenchmen.* It 
seemed at one time within the limits of probability 
that the French would occupy the greater part of the 
North American continent. From Lower Canada their 
line of forts extended up the St. Lawrence, and from 
Fond du Lac, on Lake Superior, along the River St. 
Croix, all down the Mississippi, to its mouth at New Or- 
leans. But the great, self-rehant, industrious " Niemec," 
from a fringe of settlements along the sea-coast, silent- 
ly extended westward, settling and planting themselves 
everywhere solidly uj^on the soil; and nearly all that 
now remains of the original French occupation of Amer- 
ica is the French colony of Acadia, in Lower Canada. 

And even there we find one of the most striking 
illustrations of that intense sociability of the French 
which keeps them together, and prevents their spread- 
ing over and planting themselves firmly in a new coun- 

* In a series of clever articles in the Revue des Deux Mondes, en- 
titled, " Six mille Lieues a toute Vapenr," giving a description of his 
travels in North America, JNIaurice Sand keenly observed the compar- 
atively anti-social procHvities of the American compared with the 
Frenchman. The one, he says, is inspired by the spirit of individual- 
ity, the other by the spirit of society. In America he sees the individ- 
ual absorbing society, as in France he sees society absorbing the in- 
dividual. " Ce peuple Anglo-Saxon," he says, " qui trouvait devant 
lui la terre, Tinstrument de travail, sinon ine'puisable, du moins in- 
epuise, s'est mis a I'exploiter sous I'inspiration de I'e'goisme ; et nous 
autres Fran9ais, nous n'avons rien su en faire, parceque nous ne pou- 

vons rien dans Visolement L'Americain supporte la solitude 

avec un stoicisme admirable, mais eiFrayant ; il ne I'aime pas, il ne 

songe qu'a la detruire Le Fran9ai3 est tout autre. II aime 

son parent, son ami, son compagnon, et jusqu'a son voisin d'omnibus 
ou de the'atre, si sa figure lui est sympathetique. Pourquoi? Parce 
qu'il le regarde et cherche son ame, parce qu'il vit dans son semblable 
autant qu'en lui-meme. Quand il est longtemps seul, il deperit, et 
quand il est toujours seul, il meurt." All this is perfectly true, and 
it explains why the comparatively unsociable Germans, English and 
Americans are spreading over the earth, while the intensely sociable 
Frenchmen, unable to enjoy life without each other's society, prefer 
to stay at home, and France fails to extend itself beyond France. 



262 Shyness and Colonization. [chap. ix. 

try, as it is the instinct of the men of Teutonic race to 
do. While, in Upper Canada, the colonists of English 
and Scotch descent penetrate the forest and the wil- 
derness, each settler living, it may be, miles r.part from 
his nearest neighbor, the Lower Canadians of. French 
descent continue clustered together in villages, usually 
consisting of a line of houses on either side of the road, 
behind which extend their long strips of farm-land, di- 
vided and subdivided to an extreme tenuity. They 
willingly submit to all the inconveniences of this meth- 
od of farming for the sake of each other's society, rath- 
er than betake themselves to the solitary backwoods, 
as English, Germans, and Americans so readily do. In- 
deed, not only does the American backwoodsman be- 
come accustomed to solitude, but he prefers it. And 
in the Western States, when settlers come too near him, 
and the country seems to become " overcrowded,'^ he 
retreats before the advance of society, and, packing up 
his " things " in a wagon, he sets out cheerfully, with 
his wife and family, to found for himself a new home 
in the Far West. 

Thus the Teuton, because of his very shyness, is the 
true colonizer. English, Scotch, Germans, and Ameri- 
cans are alike ready to accept solitude, provided they 
can but establish a home and maintain a family. Thus 
their comparative indifference to society has tended to 
spread this race over the earth, to till and to subdue it ; 
while the intense social instincts of the French, though 
issuing in much greater gracefulness of manner, has 
stood in their way as colonizers ; so that, in the coun- 
tries in which they have planted themselves — as in Al- 
giers and elsewhere — they have remained little more 
than garrisons.* 

* The Irish have, in many respects, the same strong social instincts 
as the French. In the United States they chister naturally in the 
towns, where they have their " Irish Quarters," as in England. They 



[chap. IX. Contrast of Nationalities. 263 

There are other qualities besides these, which grow 
oat of the comjDarative unsociableness of the EngHsh- 
maii. His shyness throws him back upon himself, and 
renders him self-reliant and self-dependent. Society 
not being essential to his happiness, he takes refuge in 
reading, in study, in invention ; or he finds pleasure in 
industrial work, and becomes the best of mechanics. 
He does not fear to intrust himself to the solitude of 
the ocean, and becomes a fisherman, a sailor, a discov- 
erer. Since the early Northmen scoured the [N'orthern 
seas, discovered America, and sent their fleets along the 
shores of Europe and up the Mediterranean, the sea- 
manship of the men of Teutonic race has always been 
in the ascendant. 

The English are inartistic for the same reason that 
they are unsocial. They may make good colonists, sail- 
ors, and mechanics ; but they do not make good sing- 
ers, dancers, actors, artistes, or modistes. They neither 
dress well, act well, speak well, nor write well. They 
want style — they want elegance. "What they have to 
do they do in a straightforward manner, but without 
grace. This was strikingly exhibited at an Interna- 
tional Cattle Exhibition held at Paris a few years ago. 
At the close of the Exhibition, the competitors came up 
with the prize animals to receive the prizes. First came 
a gay and gallant Spaniard, a magnificent man, beauti- 
fully dressed, who received a prize of the lowest class 
with an air and attitude that would have become a 
grandee of the highest order. Then came Frenchmen 

are even more Irish there than at home, and can no more forget that 
thej are Irishmen than the French can that they are Frenchmen. "I 
deUberately assert," says Mr. Maguire, in his recent Avork on "The 
Irish in America," "that it is not within the power of language to de- 
scribe adequately, much less to exaggerate, the evils consequent on 
the unhappy tendency of the Irish to congregate in the large towns of 
America." It is this intense socialism of the Irish that keeps them 
in such a miserable hand-to-mouth condition in all the States of the 
Union. 



264 Art Culture. [chap. ix. 

and Italians, full of grace, politeness, and chic — them- 
selves elegantly dressed, and their animals decorated to 
the horns with flowers and colored ribbons harmoniously- 
blended. And last of all came the man who was to re- 
ceive the first prize — a slouching man, plainly dressed, 
with a pair of farmer's gaiters on, and without even a 
flower in his button-hole. "Who is he?" asked the 
spectators. " Why, he is the Englishman," was the re- 
ply. " The Englishman ! — that the representative of 
a great country !" was the general exclamation. But it 
was the Englishman all over. He was sent there, not to 
exhibit himself, but to show " the best beast," and he 
did it, carrying away the first prize. Yet he would have 
been nothing the worse for the flower in his button-hole. 

To remedy this admitted defect of grace and want of 
artistic taste in the English peoj)le, a school has sprung 
up among us for the more general diffusion of fine art. 
The Beautiful has now its teachers and preachers, and 
by some it is almost regarded in the light of a religion. 
"The Beautiful is the Good"— "The Beautiful is the 
True " — " The Beautiful is the priest of the Benevolent," 
are among their texts. It is believed that by the study 
of art the tastes of the people may be improved ; that 
by contemplating objects of beauty their nature will be- 
come purified ; and that by being thereby withdrawn 
from sensual enjoyments, their character will be refined 
and elevated. 

But though such culture is calculated to be elevating 
and purifying in a certain degree, we must not expect 
too much from it. Grace is a sweetener and embellish- 
er of life, and as such is worthy of cultivation. Music, 
painting, dancing, and the fine arts, are all sources of 
pleasure ; and though they may not be sensual, yet they 
are sensuous, and often nothing more. The cultivation 
of a taste for beauty of form or color, of sound or atti- 
tude, has no necessary effect upon the cultivation of the 
mind or the development of the character. The con- 



CHAP. IX.] Art and National Decadence. 265 

templation of fine works of art will doubtless improve 
the taste find excite admiration ; but a single noble action 
done in the sight of men will more influence the mind, 
and stimulate the character to imitation, than the sight 
of miles of statuary or acres of pictures. For it is mind, 
soul, and heart — not taste or art — that make men great. 

It is indeed doubtful whether the cultivation of art 
— which usually ministers to luxury — has done so much 
for human progress as is generally supposed. It is even 
possible that its too exclusive culture may effeminate 
rather than strengthen the character, by laying it more 
open to the temptations of the senses. " It is the nature 
of the imaginative temperament cultivated by the arts," 
says Sir Henry Taylor, " to undermine the courage, and, 
by abating strength of character, to rende* men more 
easily subservient — sequaces, cereos, et ad mandata due- 
tiles.'''"^ The gift of the artist greatly differs from that 
of the thinker; his highest idea is to mould his subject 
— whether it be of painting, or music, or literature — into 
that perfect grace of form in which thought (it may not 
be of the deepest) finds its apotheosis and immortality. 

Art has usually flourished most during the decadence 
of nations, when it has been hired by wealth as the min- 
ister of luxury. Exquisite art and degrading corrup- 
tion were contemporary in Greece as well as in Rome. 
Phidias and Iktinos had scarcely completed the Parthe- 
non when the glory of Athens had departed ; Phidias 
died in prison ; and the Spartans set up in the city the 
memorials of their own triumph and of Athenian defeat. 
It was the same in ancient Rome, where art was at its 
greatest height when the people were in their most de- 
graded condition. Nero was an artist as well as Domi- 
tian, two of the greatest monster-s of the Empire. If 
the "Beautiful" had been the "Good," Commodus 

* "The Statesman," p. 35. 

M 



266 Paris and Rome. ' [CHAP. IX. 

must have been one of the best of men. But according 
to history he was one of the worst. 

Again, the greatest period of modern Roman art was 
that in which Pope Leo X. flourished, of whose reign it 
has been said that "profligacy and Hcentiousness pre- 
vailed among the people and clergy, as they had done 
almost uncontrolled ever since the pontificate of Alex- 
ander VI." In like manner, the period at which art 
reached its highest point in the Low Countries was that 
which immediately succeeded the destruction of civil 
and rehgious liberty, and the prostration of the national 
character under the despotism of Spain. If art could 
elevate a nation, and the contemplation of The Beautiful 
were calculated to make men The Good — then Paris 
ought to contain a population of the wisest and best of 
human beings. Rome also is a great city of art; and 
yet there the virtus or valor of the ancient Romans has 
characteristically degenerated into vertu, or a taste for 
knickknacks ; while, according to recent accounts, the 
city itself is inexpressibly foul."^ 

Art would even sometimes appear to have a connec- 
tion with dirt; and it is said of Mr. Ruskin that, when 
searching for works of art in Venice, his attendant in 
his explorations would sniff an ill-odor, and when it was 
strong would say, " Now we are coming to something 

* Nathaiiiel Hawthorne, in his "First Impressions of France and 
Italy," says his opinion of the uncleanly character of the modern Eo- 
mans is so unfavorable that he hardly knows how to express it: "But 
the fact is, that through the Forum, and everywhere out of the com- 
monest foot-track and roadway, you must look well to your steps. . . . 
Perhaps there is something in the minds of the people of these coun- 
tries that enables them to dissever small ugliness from great sublimity 
and beauty. They spit upon the glorious pavement of St. Peter's, and 
■wherever else they like ; they place paltry-looking Avooden confession- 
als beneath its sublime arches, and ornament them Avith cheap little 
colored prints of the Crucifixion ; they hang tin hearts, and other tin- 
sel and trumpery, at the gorgeous shrines of the saints, in chapels that 
are encrusted with gems, or marbles almost as precious ; they put 
pasteboard statues of saints beneath the dome of tlic Pantheon — in 
short, they let the sublime and the ridiculous come close together, and 
are not in the least troubled by the proximity." 



CHAP. IX.] The Highest Culture. 267 

very old and fine "—meaning in art.* A little common 
education in cleanliness, where it is wanting, would prob- 
ably be much more improving, as well as wholesome, 
than any amount of education in fine art. Rufiles are 
all very well, but it is folly to cultivate them to the neg- 
lect of the shirt. 

While, therefore, grace of manner, politeness of behav- 
ior, elegance of demeanor, and all the arts that contrib- 
ute to make life pleasant and beautiful, are worthy of 
cultivation, it must not be at the expense of the more 
solid and enduring qualities of honesty, sincerity, and 
truthfulness. The fountain of beauty must be in the 
heart more than in the eye, and if it do not tend to pro- 
duce beautiful life and noble practice, it will prove of 
comparatively little avail. Politeness of manner is not 
worth much unless it is accompanied by polite actions. 
Grace may be but skin-deep — very pleasant and attract- 
ive, and yet very heartless. Art may be a source of in- 
nocent enjoyment, and an important aid to higher cul- 
ture ; but unless it leads to higher culture, it may be 
merely sensuous. And when art is merely sensuous, it 
is enfeebling ^nd demoralizing rather than strengthen- 
ing or elevating. Honest courage is of greater worth 
than any amount of grace ; purity is better than ele- 
gance ; and cleanliness of body, mind, and heart, than 
any amount of fine art. 

While the cultivation of the graces is not to be neg- 
lected, it should never be forgotten that there is some- 
thing far higher and nobler to be aimed at — greater 
than pleasure, greater than art, greater than wealth, 
greater than power, greater than intellect, greater than 
genius; and that is purity and excellence of character. 
Without a solid, sterling basis of individual goodness, 
all the grace, elegance, and art in the world would fail 
to save or to elevate a peoj^le. 

* Edwin Chadwick's ' ' Address to the Economic Science and Statis- 
tic Section," British Association (Meeting, 1862). 



CHAPTER X. 

COMPAIN'IONSHIP OF BOOKS. 

"Books, we know, 
Are a substantial world, both pure and good. 
Round which, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, 
Our pastime and our happiness can grow." — Wokds"worth. 

"Not only in the common speech of men, but in all art too — which 
is or should be the concentrated and conserved essence of what men 
can speak and show — Biography is almost the one thing needful." — 
Carlyle. 

" I read all biographies with intense interest. Even a man without 
a heart, like Cavendish, I think about, and read about, and dream 
about, and picture to myself in all possible ways, till he grows into a 
living being beside me, and I put my feet into his shoes, and become 
for the time Cavendish, and think as he thought, and do as he did." — 
George Wilson, 

"My thoughts are with the dead; with them 

I live in long-past years ; 
Their virtues love, their faults condemn ; 

Partake their hopes and fears ; 
And from their lessons seek and find 

Instruction with a humble mind." — Southey. 

A MAN may usually be known by the books he reads, 
as well as by the company he keeps ; for there is 
a companionship of books as well as of men ; and one 
should always live in the best company, whether it be 
of books or of men. 

A good book may be among the best of friends. It 
is the same to-day that it always was, and it will never 
change. It is the most patient and cheerful of com- 
panions. It does not turn its back upon us in times of 
adversity or distress. It always receives us with the 
same kindness ; amusing and instructing us in youth, 
i^^d comforting and consoling us in age. 



CHAP. X.] Companionsliijo of Boohs. 269 

Mea often discover their affinity to each other by the 
mutual love they have for a book — just as two persons 
sometimes discover a friend by the admiration which 
both entertain for a third. There is an old proverb, 
" Love me, love my dog." But there is more wisdom 
in this : " Love me, love my book." The book is a 
truer and higher bond of union. Men can think, feel, 
and sympathize with each other through their favorite 
author. They live in him together, and he in them. 

" Books," said Hazlitt, " wind into the heart ; the 
poet's verse slides into the current of our blood. We 
read them when young, we remember them when old. 
"We read there of what has happened to others ; we feel 
that it has happened to ourselves. They are to be had 
everywhere cheap and good. We breathe but the air 
of books. We owe every thing to their authors, on 
this side barbaristii." 

A good book is often t^e best urn^of a life, enshrin- 
ing the best thoughts of which that life was capable ; 
for the world of a man's life is, for the most part, but 
the world of his thoughts. Thus the best books are 
treasuries of good words and golden thoughts, which, 
remembered and cherished, become our abiding com- 
panions and comforters. "They are never alone," said 
Sir Philip Sidney, "that are accompanied by noble 
thoughts." The good and true thought may in time 
of temptation be as an angel of mercy purifying and 
guarding the soul. It also enshrines the germs of ac- 
tion, for good words almost invariably insjoire to good 
works. 

Thus Sir Henry Lawrence prized above all other com- 
positions Wordsworth's "Character of the Happy War- 
rior," which he endeavored to embody in his own life. 
It was ever before him as an exemplar. He thought of 
it continually, and often quoted it to others. His biog- 
rapher says : " He tried to conform his own life and to 



270 Good Boohs the Best Society. [CHAP. x. 

assimilate his own character to it ; and he succeeded, as 
all men succeed who are truly in earnest."* 

Books possess an essence of immortality. They are 
by far the most lasting products of human efTort. Tem- 
ples crumble into ruin ; pictures and statues decay ; but 
books survive. Time is of no account with great thoughts, 
which are as fresh to-day as when they first passed 
through their authors' minds, ages ago. What was 
then said and thought still speaks to us as vividly as 
ever from the printed page. The only effect of time 
has been to sift and winnow out the bad products ; for 
nothing in literature can long survive but what is really 
good.f 

Books introduce us into the best society ; they bring 
us into the presence of the greatest minds that have 
ever lived. We hear what they said and did ; w^e see 
them as if they were really alive; we" are participators 
in their thoughts ; we sympathize with them, enjoy with 
them, grieve with them ; their experience becomes ours, 
and we feel as if we were in a measure actors with them 
in the scenes which they describe. 

The great and good do not die, even in this world. 
Embalmed in books, their spirits w^alk abroad. The 
book is a living voice. It is an intellect to w^hich one 
still listens. Hence we ever remain under the influence 
of the great men of old : 

"The dead but sceptred sovrans, -vvlio still rule 
Our spirits from their urns." 



* Kaye's "LiA'es of Indian Officers." 

t Emerson, in his "Society and Solitude," says : "In contempora- 
ries, it is not so easy to distinguish between notoriety and fame. Be 
sure, then, to read no mean books. Shun the spawn of the press or 
the gossip of the hour. ... The three practical rules I have to offer 
are these; 1. Never read a book that is not a year old ; 2. Never read 
any but filmed books; 3. Never read any but what you like." Lord 
Lytton's maxim is : "In science, read by preference the newest books ; 
in literature, the oldest." 



CHAP. X.] Great Writers Immortal. 271 

The imperial intellects of the world are as mucli alive 
now as they were ages ago. Homer still lives ; and 
though his personal histoiy is hidden in the mists of 
antiquity, his poems are as fresh to-day as if they had 
been newly written. Plato still teaches his transcend- 
ent philosophy ; Horace, Yirgil, and Dante still sing as 
when they lived ; Shakspeare is not dead : his body was 
buried in 1616, but his mind is as mucb alive in En- 
gland now, and his thought as far-reaching, as in the 
time of the Tudors. 

The humblest and poorest may enter the society of 
these great spirits without being thought intrusive. 
All who can read have got the entree. Would you 
laugh? Cervantes or Rabelais will laugh with you. 
Do you grieve? there is Thomas a Kempis or Jeremy 
Taylor to grieve with and console you. Always it is to 
books, and the spirits of great men embalmed in them, 
that we turn for entertainment, for instruction, and sol- 
ace^n joy and in sorrow, as in prosperity and in ad- 
versity. 

Man himself is, of all things in the world, the most 
interesting to man. Whatever relates to human life — 
its experiences, its joys, its sufferings, and its achieve- 
ments — has usually attractions for him beyond all else. 
Each man is more or less interested in all other men as 
his fellow-creatures — as members of the great family 
of humankind; and the larger a man's culture, the 
wider is the range of his sympathies in all that affects 
the welfare of his race. 

Men's interest in each other as individuals manifests 
itself in a thousand ways — in the portraits which they 
paint, in the busts which they carve, in the narratives 
which they relate of each other. "Man," says Emer- 
son, " can paint, or make, or think, nothing but Man." 
Most of all is this interest shown in the fascination 
which personal history possesses for him. "Man's so- 



272 Interest of Biography. [CHAP. X. 

ciality of nature," says Carlyle, " evinces itself, in spite 
of all that can be said, with abundance of evidence, by 
this one fact, were there no other — the unspeakable de- 
light he takes in Biography." 

Great, indeed, is the human interest felt in biography ! 
What are all the novels that find such multitudes of 
readers, but so many fictitious biographies ? What are 
the dramas that people crowd to see, but so much act- 
ed biography ? Strange that the highest genius should 
be employed on the fictitious biography, and so much 
commonplace ability on the real ! 

Yet the authentic picture of any human being's life 
and experience ought to possess an interest greatly be- 
yond that which is fictitious, inasmuch as it has the 
charm of reality. Every person may learn something 
from the recorded life of another ; and even compara- 
tively trivial deeds and sayings may be invested with 
interest, as being the outcome of the lives of such be- 
ings as we ourselves are. 

The records of the lives of good men are especially 
useful. They influence our hearts, inspire us with 
hope, and set before us great examples. And when 
men have done their duty through life in a great spirit, 
their influence will never wholly pass away. "The 
good life," says George Herbert, " is never out of sea- 
son." 

Goethe has said that there is no man so common- 
place that a wise man may not learn something from 
him. Sir Walter Scott could not travel in a coach 
without gleaning some information or discovering some 
new trait of character in his companions.* Dr. John- 

* A friend of Sir Walter Scott, who had the same habit, and prided 
himself on his powers of conversation, one day tried to "draw out" 
a fellow-passenger Avho sat beside him on the outside of a coach, but 
with indifferent success. At length the conversationalist descended 
to expostulation. "I have talked to you, my friend," said he, "on 
all the ordinary subjects — literature, forming, mercliandise, gaming. 



CHAP. X.] Great Lesson of Biography. 273 



son once observed that there was not a person in the 
streets but he should like to know his biography — his 
experiences of life, his trials, his difficulties, his success- 
es, and his failures. How much more truly might this 
be said of the men who have made their mark in the 
world's history, and have created for us that great in- 
heritance of civilization of which we are the possess- 
ors ! Whatever relates to such men — to their habits, 
their manners, their modes of living, their personal his- 
tory, their conversation, their maxims, their virtues, or 
their greatness — is always full of interest, of instruc- 
tion, of encouragement, and of example. 

The great lesson of Biography is to shov/ what man. 
can be and do at his best. A noble life put fairly on 
record acts like an inspiration to others. It exhibits 
what life is capable of being made. It refreshes our 
spirit, encourages our hopes, gives us new strength and 
courage and faith — faith in others as well as in our- 
selves. It stimulates our aspirations, rouses us to ac- 
tion, and incites us to become co-partners with them in 
their work. To live with such men in their biographies, 
and to be inspired by their example, is to live with the 
best of men and to mix in the best of company. 

At the head of all biographies stands the Great Bi- 
ography — the Book of Books. And what is the Bible, 
the most sacred and impressive of all books — the edu- 
cator of youth, the guide of manhood, and the consoler 
of age — but a series of biographies of great heroes and 
patriarchs, prophets, kings, and judges, culminating in 
the greatest biography of all — the Life embodied in the 
ISTew Testament? How much have the great examples 

game-laws, horse-races, suits at law, politics, and swindling, and blas- 
phemy, and philosophy : is there any one subject that you will favor 
me by opening upon?" The wight writhed his countenance into a 
grin : " Sir," said he, " can you say any thing clever about hend leath- 
er ?" As might be expected, the conversationalist was completely 
nonplused. 

M2 



274 The Booh of Books. [chap. x. 

there set forth done for mankind ! How many have 
drawn from them their best strength, their highest wis- 
dom, their best nurture and admonition ! Truly does 
a great Koman Catholic Avriter describe the Bible as a 
book whose words "live in the ear like a music that 
can never be forgotten — like the sound of church-bells 
which the convert hardly knows how he can forego. 
Its felicities often seem to be almost things rather than 
mere words. It is part of the national mind, and the 
anchor of national seriousness. The memory of the 
dead passes into it. The potent traditions of childhood 
are stereotyped in its verses. The power of all the 
griefs and trials of man is hidden beneath its words. 
It is the representative of his best moments; and all 
that has been about him of soft, and gentle, and pure, 
and penitent, and good, speaks to him forever out of his 
English Bible. It is his sacred thing, which doubt has 
never dimmed and controversy never soiled. In the 
length and breadth of the land there is not a Protestant 
with one spark of religiousness about him whose spir- 
itual biography is not in his Saxon Bible.'"^ 

It would, indeed, be difficult to overestimate the in- 
fluence which the lives of the great and good have ex- 
ercised upon the elevation of human character. " The 

* Coleridge, in his " Lay Sermon, '' points out, as a fact of history, 
how large a part of our present knowledge and civilization is owing, 
directly or indirectly, to the Bible ; that the Bible has been the main 
lever by which the moral and intellectual character of Europe has 
been raised to its present comparative height; and he specifies the 
marked and prominent difference of tliis book from the works which 
it is the fashion to quote as guides and authorities in morals, politics, 
and history. " In the Bible," he says, " every agent appears and acts 
as a self-substituting individual : each has a life of its own, and yet 
all are in life. The elements of necessity and free-will are reconciled 
in the higher power of an omnipresent Providence, that predestinates 
the whole in the moral freedom of the integral parts. Of this the 
Bible never suffers us to lose sight. The root is never detached from 
the ground. It is God everywhere ; and all creatures conform to His 
decrees — the righteous by performance of the law, the disobedient by 
the sufferance of the penalty." 



CHAP. X.] History and Biography. 275 

best biography," says Isaac Disraeli, " is a reunion witli 
human existence in its most excellent state." Indeed, 
it is impossible for one to read the lives of good men, 
much less inspired men, without being unconsciously 
lighted and lifted up in them, and growing insensibly 
nearer to what they thought and did. And even the 
lives of humbler persons, of men of faithful and honest 
spirit, who have done their duty in life well, are not 
without an elevating influence upon the character of 
those who come after them. 

History itself is best studied in biography. Indeed, 
history is biography — collective humanity as influenced 
and governed by individual men. "What is all history," 
says Emerson, " but the work of ideas, a record of the 
incomparable energy which his infinite aspirations in- 
fuse into man ?" In its pages it is always persons we 
see more than principles. Historical events are inter- 
esting to us mainly in connection with the feelings, the 
sufferings, and interests of those by whom they are ac- 
complished. In history we are surrounded by men long 
dead, but whose speech and whose deeds survive. We 
almost catch the sound of their voices ; and what they 
did constitutes the interest of history. We never feel 
personally interested in masses of men ; but we feel and 
sympathize with the individual actors, whose biogra- 
phies afford the finest and most real touches in all great 
historical dramas. 

Among the great writers of the past, probably the 
two that have been most influential in forming the char- 
acters of great men of action and great men of thought 
have been Plutarch and Montaigne — the one by present- 
ing heroic models for imitation, the other by probing 
questions of constant recurrence in which the human 
mind in all ages has taken the deepest interest. And 
the works of both are, for the most part, cast in a bio- 
graphic form, their most striking illustrations consist- 



276 Plutarch's ''Lives:' [chap. x. 

ing in the exhibitions of character and experience which 
they contain. 

Plutarch's "Lives," though written nearly eighteen 
hundred years ago, like Homer, still holds its ground as 
the greatest work of its kind. , It was the favorite book 
of Montaigne; and to Englishmen it possesses the spe- 
cial interest of having been Shakspeare's principal au- 
thority in his great classical dramas. Montaigne pro- 
nounced Plutarch to be " the greatest master in that 
kind of writing" — the biographic; and he declared that 
he " could no sooner cast an eye upon him but he pur- 
loined either a leg or a wing." 

Alfieri was first drawn with passion to literature by 
reading Plutarch. " I read," said he, " the lives of Ti- 
moleou, Caesar, Brutus, Pelopidas, more than six times, 
with cries, with tears, and with such transports that I 
was almost furious. . . . Every time that I met with 
one of the grand traits of these great men I was seized 
with such vehement agitation as to be unable to sit 
still." Plutarch was also a favorite with persons of 
such various minds as Schiller and Benjamin Franklin, 
Kapoleon and Madame Poland. The latter Avas so fas- 
cinated by the book that she carried it to church with 
her in the guise of a missal, and read it surreptitiously 
during the service. 

It has also been the nurture of heroic souls such as 
Henry IV. of France, Turenne, and the N'apiers. It 
was one of Sir William N'apier's favorite books when a 
boy. His mind was early imbued by it with a passion- 
ate admiration for the great heroes of antiquity ; and 
its influence had, doubtless, much to do with the forma- 
tion of his character, as well as the direction of his ca- 
reer in life. It is related of him, that in his last illness, 
when feeble and exhausted, his mind wandered back to 
Plutarch's heroes ; and he descanted for hours to his 
son-in-law on the mighty deeds of Alexander, Hannibal, 



CHAP. X.] Influence of Plutarch. 211 

and Cassar. Indeed, if it were possible to poll the great 
body of readers in all ages whose minds have been in- 
fluenced and directed by books, it is probable that — 
excepting always the Bible — the immense majority of 
votes would be cast in favor of Plutarch. 

And how is it that Plutarch has succeeded in excit- 
ing an interest which continues to attract and rivet the 
attention of readers of all ages and classes to this day ? 
In the first place, because the subject of his work is 
great men, who occupied a prominent place in the 
world's history, and because he had an eye to see and a 
pen to describe the more prominent events and circum- 
stances in their lives. And not only so, but he possess- 
ed the power of portraying the individual character of 
his heroes ; for it is the principle of individuality which 
gives the charm and interest to all biography. The 
most engaging side of great men is not so much what 
they do as what they are, and does not depend upon 
their power of intellect but on their personal attractive- 
ness. Thus there are men whose lives are far more 
eloquent than their speeches, and whose personal char- 
acter is far greater than their deeds. 

It is also to be observed that, while the best and most 
carefully- drawn of Plutarch's portraits are of life-size, 
many of them are little more than busts. They are 
well-proportioned but compact, and within such reason- 
able compass that the best of them — such as the lives 
of Caesar and Alexander — may be read in half an hour. 
Reduced to this measure, they are, however, greatly 
more imposing than a lifeless Colossus or an exagger- 
ated giant. They are not overlaid by disquisition and 
description, but the characters naturally unfold them- 
selves. Montaigne, indeed, complained of Plutarch's 
brevity. " No doubt," he added, " but his reputation 
is the better for it, though in ^he mean time we are the 
worse. Plutarch would rather we should applaud his 



278 Genius of Plutarch. [chap. x. 

judgment than commend his knowledge, and had rather 
leave us with an appetite to read more than glutted 
with what we have already read. He knew very well 
that a man may say too much even on the best sub- 
jects. . . . Such as have lean and spare bodies stuff 
themselves out with clothes; so they who are defect- 
ive in matter endeavor to make amends with words."* 

Plutarch possessed the art of delineating the more 
delicate features of mind and minute peculiarities of 
conduct, as w^ell as the foibles and defects of his heroes, 
all of which is necessary to faithful and accurate por- 
traiture. " To see him," says Montaigne, " pick out a 
light action in a man's life, or a word, that does not 
seem to be of any importance, is itself a whole dis- 
course." He even condescends to inform us of such 
homely particulars as that Alexander carried his head 
affectedly on one side; that Alcibiades was a dandy, 
and had a lisp, which became him, giving a grace and 
persuasive turn to his discourse ; that Cato had red hair 
and gray eyes, and was a usurer and a screw, selling off 
his old slaves when they became unfit for hard work ; 
that Csesar was bald and fond of gay dress; and that 
Cicero (like Lord Brougham) had involuntary twitch- 
ings of his nose. 

Such minute particulars may by some be thought be- 
neath the dignity of biography, but Plutarch thought 
them requisite for the due finish of the complete por- 
trait which he set himself to draw; and it is by small 
details of character — personal traits, features, habits, 
and characteristics — that we are enabled to see before 
us the men as they really lived. Plutarch's great mer- 
it consists in his attention to these little things, without 
giving them undue preponderance, or neglecting those 
which are of greater moment. Sometimes he hits off 

* Montaigne's Essay (book i.f chap, xxv.), "Of the Education of 
Children." 



CHAP. X.] Plutarch's Art. 279 

an individual trait by an anecdote, which throws more 
light upon the character described than pages of rhetor- 
ical description would do. In some cases he gives us 
the favorite maxim of liis hero ; and the maxims of men 
often reveal their hearts. 

Then, as to foibles, the greatest of meu are not usu- 
ally symmetrical. Each has his defect, his twist, his 
craze ; and it is by his faults that the great man reveals 
his common humanity. We may, at a distance, admire 
him as a demigod ; but as we come nearer to him, we 
find that he is but a fallible man, and our brother.* 

N"or are the illustrations of the defects of great men 
without their uses ; for, as Dr. Johnson observed, " If 
nothing but the bright side of characters were shown, 
we should sit down in despondency, and think it utterly 
impossible to imitate them in any thing." 

Plutarcli himself justifies his method of portraiture 
by averring that his design w^as not to write histories, 
but lives. " The most glorious exploits," he says, " do 
not always furnish us with the clearest discoveries of 
virtue or of vice in men. Sometimes a matter of much 
less moment, an expression or a jest, better informs us 
of their characters and inclinations than battles with 
the slaughter of tens of thousands, and the greatest ar- 
rays of armies or sieges of cities. Therefore, as por- 
trait-painters are more exact in their lines and features 
of the face and the expression of the eyes, in which the 
character is seen, without troubhng themselves about 
the other parts of the body, so I must be allowed to 
give my more particular attention to the signs and in- 
dications of the souls of men ; and w^hile I endeavor 
by these means to portray their lives, I leave im- 

* "Taut il est vrai," says Voltaire, " qile les hommes, qui sont au- 
dessus des autres par les talents, s'en rapprochent presque toujours par 
les faiblesses ; car pourquoi les talents nous mettraient-ils audessous 
de Thumanite'." — Vie de MoJiere, Didot ed., xiii. 



280 Trifles in Biography. [chap, x. 

portant events and great battles to be described by 
others." 

Things apparently trifling may stand for much in 
biography as well as history, and slight circumstances 
may influence great results. Pascal has remarked that 
if Cleopatra's nose had been shorter, the whole face of 
the world would probably have been changed. But for 
the amours of Pepin the Fat, the Saracens might have 
overrun Europe, as it was his illegitimate son, Charles 
Martel, who overthrew them at Tours, and eventually 
drove them out of France. 

That Sir Walter Scott should have sprained hi^ foot 
in running round the room when a child, may seem 
unworthy of notice in his biography; yet "Ivanhoe," 
" Old Mortality," and all the Waverley novels, depended 
upon it. When his son intimated a desire to enter the 
army, Scott wrote to Southey, " I have no title to com- 
bat a choice which would have been my own, had not 
my lameness prevented." So that, had not Scott been 
lame, he might have fought all through the Peninsular 
War, and had his breast covered with medals ; but we 
should probably have had none of those works of his 
which have made his name immortal and shed so much 
glory upon his country. Talleyrand also was kept out 
of the army, for which he had been destined, by his 
lameness; but directing his attention to the study of 
books, and eventually of men, he at length took rank 
among the greatest diplomatists of his time. 

Byron's club-foot had probably not a little to do with 
determining his destiny as a poet. Had not his mind 
been embittered and made morbid by his deformity, he 
might never have written a line — he might have been 
the noblest fop of his day. But his misshapen foot 
stimulated his mind, roused his ardor, threw him upon 
his own resources — and we know with what result.. 

So, too, of Scarron, to whose hunchback we probably 



CHAP, x] Light and Shade. 281 

owe his cynical verse ; and of Pope, whose satire was in 
a measure the outcome of his deformity — for he was, 
as Johnson described him, " protuberant behind and be- 
fore." What Lord Bacon said of deformity is doubt- 
less, to a great extent, true. " Whoever," said he, " hath 
any thing fixed in his person that doth induce contempt 
hath also a perpetual spur in himself to rescue and de- 
liver himself from scorn ; therefore, all deformed per- 
sons are extremely bold." 

As in portraiture, so in biography — there must be 
light and shade. The portrait-painter does not pose 
his sitter so as to bring out his deformities ; nor does 
the biographer give undue prominence to the defects of 
the character he portrays. Not many men are so out- 
spoken as Cromwell was when he sat to Cooper for his 
miniature : " Paint me as I am," said he, " warts and 
all." Yet, if we would have a faithful likeness of faces 
and characters, they must be p.ainted as they are. " Bi- 
ography," said Sir Walter Scott, " the most interesting 
of every species of composition, loses all its interest 
wdth me when the shades and lights of the principal 
characters are not accurately and faithfully detailed. I 
can no more sympathize with a mere eulogist than I 
can with a ranting hero on the stage."* 

Addison liked to know as much as possible about the 
person and character of his authors, inasmuch as it in- 
creased the pleasure and satisfaction which he derived 
from the perusal of their books. What was their his- 
tory, their experience, their temper and disposition? 
Did their lives resemble their books? They thought 
nobly — did they act nobly ? " Should we not delight," 
says Sir Egerton Brydges, " to have the frank story of 
the lives and feelings of Wordsworth, Southey, Cole- 
ridge, Campbell, Rogers, Moore, and Wilson related by 

* "Life,"8yoed.,p. 102. 



282 Portraiture of Character. [CHAP. x. 

themselves? — with whom they hved early; how their 
bent took a decided course ; their likes and dislikes ; 
their difficulties and obstacles ; their tastes, their pas- 
sions ; the rocks they were conscious of having split 
upon ; their regrets, their complacencies, and their self- 
justifications?"* 

When Mason was reproached for publishing the pri- 
vate letters of Gray, he answered, " Would you always 
have my friends appear in full-dress?" Johnson was 
of opinion that, to waite a man's life truly, it is neces- 
sary that the biographer should have personally known 
him. But this condition has been wanting in some of 
the best writers of biographies extant.f In the case of 
Lord 'Campbell, his personal intimacy with Lords Lynd- 
hurst and Brougham seems to have been a positive dis- 
advantage, leading him to dwarf the excellences and to 
magnify the blots in their characters. Again, Johnson 
says: "If a man profess, to write a life, he must write 
it really as it was. A man's peculiarities, and even his 
vices, should be mentioned, because they mark his char- 
acter." But there is always this difficulty — that Avhile 
minute details of conduct, favorable or otherwise, can 
best be given from personal knowledge, they can not al- 
ways be published, out of regard for the living ; and 
when the time arrives when they may at length be told, 
they are then no longer remembered. Johnson himself 
expressed this reluctance to tell all he knew of those 
poets who had been his contemporaries, saying that he 
felt as if "walking upon ashes under w^hich the fire w^as 
not extinguished." 

* "Autobiography of Sir Egerton Brydges, Bart,," vol. i., p. 01. 

t It was wanting in Plutarch, in Southey ("Life of Nelson"), and 
in Porster (" Life of Goldsmith") ; yet it must be acknowledged that 
personal knowledge gives the principal charm to Tacitus's "Agrico- 
la," Roper's "Life of Moore," Johnson's "Lives of Savage and 
Pope," Boswell's " Johnson," Lockhart's "Scott," Carlyle's " Ster- 
ling," and Moore's "Byron." 



CHAP. X.] Faithfulness of Portraiture. 283 

For this reason, among others, we rarely obtain an 
unvarnished picture of character from the near relatives 
of distinguished men ; and, interesting though all auto- 
biography is, still less can we expect it from the men 
themselves. In writing his own memoirs, a man wdll 
not tell all that he knows about himself. Augustine 
was a rare exception ; but few there are who will, as he 
did in his "Confessions," lay bare their innate vicious- 
ness, deceitfulness, and selfishness. There is a High- 
laud proverb which says that, if the best man's faults 
were written on his forehead, he would pull his bonnet 
over his brow. "There is no man," said Voltaire, 
"who has not something hateful in him — no man w^ho 
has not some of the wild beast in him. But there are 
few who will honestly tell us how they manage their 
wild beast." Rousseau pretended to unbosom himself 
in his " Confessions ;" but it is manifest that he held 
back far more than he revealed. Even Chamfort, one 
of the last men to fear what his contemporaries might 
think or say of him, once observed : ^' It seems to me 
impossible, in the actual state of society, for any man 
to exhibit his secret heart, the details of his character 
as known to himself, and, above all, his weaknesses and 
his vices, to even his best friend." 

An autobiography may be true so far as it goes ; but 
in communicating only part of the truth, it may convey 
an impression that is really false. It may be a disguise 
— sometimes it is an apology — exhibiting not so much 
what a man really was as what he would have liked to 
be. A portrait in profile may be correct, but , who 
knows whether some scar on the off-cheek, or some 
squint in the eye that is not seen, might not have en- 
tirely altered the expression of the face if brought into 
sight ? Scott, Moore, Southey, all began autobiographies, 
but the task of continuing them was doubtless felt to be 
too difiicult as well as dehcate, and they were abandoned. 



284 Saint-Simon and La Bruyere. [chap. x. 

French literature is especially rich in a class of bio- 
graphic memoirs of which we have few counterparts in 
English. We refer to their Memoir es pour servir, such 
as those of Sully, De Comines, Lauzun, De Retz, De 
Thou, Rochefoucauld, etc., in which we have recorded 
an immense mass of minute and circumstantial informa- 
tion relative to many great personages of history. They 
are full of anecdotes illustrative of life and character, 
and of details which might be called frivolous, but that 
they throw a flood of light on the social habits and gen- 
eral civilization of the periods to which they relate. 
The Memoires of Saint-Simon are something more : 
they are marvellous dissections of character, and consti- 
tute the most extraordinary collection of anatomical 
biography that has ever been brought together. 

Saint-Simon might almost be regarded in the light of 
a posthumous court-spy of Louis the Fourteenth. He 
was possessed by a passion for reading character, and 
endeavoring to decipher motives and intentions in the 
faces, expressions, conversation, and by-play of those 
about him. "I examine all my personages closely," 
said he — " watch their mouth, eyes, and ears,- constant- 
ly." And what he heard and saw he noted down with 
extraordinary vividness and dash. Acute, keen, and 
observant, he pierced the masks of the courtiers, and 
detected their secrets. The ardor with which he pros- 
ecuted his favorite study of character seemed insatiable, 
and even cruel. "The eager anatomist," says Sainte- 
Beuve, " was not more ready to plunge the scalpel into 
the still-palpitating bosom in search of the disease that 
had baffled him." 

La Bruyere possessed the same gift of accurate and 
penetrating observation of character. He w^atched and 
studied every body about him. He sought to read their 
secrets ; and, retiring to his chamber, he deliberately 
painted their portraits, returning to them from time to 



CHAP. X.] Biography and Fiction. 285 

time to correct some prominent feature — hanging over 
them as fondly as an artist over some favorite study — 
adding trait to trait, and touch to touch, until at length 
the picture was complete and the likeness perfect. 

It may be said that much of the interest of biography, 
especially of the more familiar sort, is of the nature of 
gossip ; as that of the Memoires pour servir is of the 
nature of scandal, which is no doubt true. But both 
gossip and scandal illustrate the strength of the interest 
which men and women take in each other's personality ; 
and which, exhibited in the form of biography, is capa- 
ble of communicating the highest pleasure, and yield- 
ing the best instruction. Indeed biography, because it 
is instinct of humanity, is the branch of literature 
which — whether in the form of fiction, of anecdotal rec- 
ollection, or of personal narrative — is the one that inva- 
riably commends itself to by far the largest class of 
readers. 

There is no room for doubt that the surpassing in- 
terest which fiction, whether in poetry or prose, pos- 
sesses for most minds arises mainly from the biographic 
element which it contains. Homer's "Iliad" owes its 
marvellous popularity to the genius which its author 
displayed in the portrayal of heroic character. Yet 
he does not so much describe his personages in de- 
tail as make them develop themselves by their actions. 
" There are in Homer," said Dr. Johnson, " such char- 
acters of heroes and combination of qualities of heroes, 
that the united powers of mankind ever since have not 
produced any but what are to be found there." 

The genius of Shakspeare, also, was displayed in the 
powerful delineation of character, and the dramatic ev- 
olution of human passions. His personages seem to be 
real — living and breathing before us. So, too, with 
Cervantes, whose Sancho Panza, though homely and 
vulgar, is intensely human. The characters in Le 



286 Great Biographies Rare. [chap. x. 

Sage's " Gil Bias," in Goldsmith's " Vicar of Wake- 
field," and in Scott's marvellous muster-roll, seem to 
us almost as real as persons whom we have actually- 
known ; and De Foe's greatest works are but so many 
biographies, painted in minute detail, with reality so ap- 
parently stamped upon every page that it is difficult to 
believe his Robinson Crusoe and Colonel Jack to have 
been fictitious persons instead of real ones. 

Though the richest romance lies inclosed in actual 
human life, and though biography, because it describes 
beings who have actually felt the joys and sorrows, and 
experienced the difficulties and triumphs, of real life, is 
capable of being made more attractive than the most 
perfect fictions ever woven, it is remarkable that so few 
men of genius have been attracted to the composition 
of works of this kind. Great works of fiction abound, 
but great biographies may be counted on the fingers. 
It may be for the same reason that a great painter of 
portraits, the late John Phillip, R.A., exj^lained his 
preference for subject-painting, because, said he, "Por- 
trait-painting does not pay." Biographic portraiture 
involves laborious investigation and careful collection 
of facts, judicious rejection and skillful condensation, 
as well as the art of presenting the character portrayed 
in the most attractive and life-like form ; whereas, in 
the work of fiction, the writer's imagination is free to 
create and to portray character, without being tram- 
melled by references, or held down by the actual details 
of real life. 

There is, indeed, no want among us of ponderous but 
lifeless memoirs, many of them little better than inven- 
tories, put together with the help of the scissors as much 
as of the pen. What Constable said of the portraits of 
an inferior artist — "He takes all the bones and brains 
out of his heads " — applies to a large class of portrait- 
ure, written as well as painted. They have no more life 



CHAP, x] ' BoswelVs ^'Life of Johnsony 287 

in them than a piece of wax-work, or a clothes-dummy 
at a tailor's door. What we want is a picture of a man 
as he lived, and lo ! we have an exhibition of the biog- 
rapher himself. We expect an embalmed heart, and we 
find only clothes. 

There is doubtless as high art displayed in painting a 
portrait in words as there is in painting one in colors. 
To do either well requires the seeing eye and the skill- 
ful pen or brush. A common artist sees only the fea- 
tures of a face, and copies them ; but the great artist 
sees the living soul shining through the features, and 
places it on the canvas. Johnson was once asked to as- 
sist the chaplain of a deceased bishop in writing a mem- 
oir of his lordship ; but when he proceeded to inquire 
for information, the chaplain could scarcely tell him any 
thing. Hence Johnson was led to observe that " few 
people Avho have lived with a man know what to re- 
mark about him." 

In the case of Johnson's own life, it was the seeing 
eye of Bos well that enabled him to note and treasure 
up those minute details of habit and conversation in 
which so much of the interest of biography consists. 
Boswell, because of his simple love and admiration of 
liis hero, succeeded where probably greater men would 
have failed. He descended to apparently insignificant, 
but yet most characteristic, particulars. Thus he apol- 
ogizes for informing the reader that Johnson, when 
journeying, "carried in his hand a large English oak- 
stick;" adding, "I remember Dr. Adam Smith, in his 
rhetorical lectures at Glasgow, told us he was glad to 
know that Milton wore latchets in his shoes instead of 
buckles." Boswell lets us know how Johnson looked, 
what dress he wore, what was his talk, what were his 
prejudices. He painted him with all his scars, and a 
wonderful portrait it is — perhaps the most complete pic- 
ture of a great man ever limned in words. 



288 Men and their Qontemjporaries. [chap. x. 

But for the accident of the Scotch advocate's inti- 
macy with Johnson, and his devoted admiration of him, 
the latter would not probably have stood nearly so 
high in literature as he now does. It is in the pages 
of Boswell that he really lives ; and but for Boswell he 
might have remained littto more than a name. Others 
there are who have bequeathed great works to posteri- 
ty, but of whose lives next to nothing is known. What 
would we not give to have a Boswell's account of Shak- 
speare ? We positively know more of the personal his- 
tory of Socrates, of Horace, of Cicero, of Augustine, 
than Ave do of Shakspeare. We do not know what was 
his religion, what were his politics, what were his expe- 
riences, what were his relations to his contemporaries. 
The men of his own time do not seem to have recog- 
nized his greatness ; and Ben Jonson, the court poet, 
whose blank-verse he was content to commit to mem- 
ory and recite as an actor, stood higher in his day than 
Shakspeare. We only know that he was a successful 
theatrical manager, and that in the prime of life he re- 
tired to his native place, where he died, and had the 
honors of a village funeral. The greater part of the 
biography which has been constructed respecting him 
has been the result, not of contemporary observation or 
of record, but of inference. The best inner biography 
of the man is to be found in his sonnets. 

Men do not always take an accurate measure of their 
contemporaries. The statesman, the general, the mon- 
arch, of to-day fills all eyes and ears, though to the 
next generation he may be as if he had never been. 
"And who is king to-day?" the painter Greuze would 
ask of his daughter, during the throes of the first 
French Bevolution, when men, great for the time, were 
suddenly thrown to the surface, and as suddenly drop- 
ped out of sight again, never to reappear. "And who 
is king to-day ? After all," Greuze would add, " Citizen 



CHAP. X.] Unwritten Biograplvks. 289 

Homer and Citizen Rapbael will outlive those great citi- 
zens of ours, whose names I have never before heard 
of." Yet of the personal history of Homer nothing is 
known, and of Raphael comparatively little. Even Plu- 
tarch, who wrote the lives of others so well, has no biog- 
raphy, none of the eminent Koman writers who were his 
contemporaries having so much as mentioned his name. 
And so of Correggio, who delineated the features of others 
so well, there is not known to exist an authentic portrait. 

There have been men who greatly influenced the life 
of their time, whose reputation has been much greater 
with posterity than it was with their contemporaries. 
Of "VYickliffe, the patriarch of the Reformation, our 
knowledge is extremely small. He was but as a voice 
crying in the wilderness. We do not really know who 
was the author of " The Imitation of Christ " — a book 
that has had an immense circulation, and exercised a 
vast rehgious influence in all Christian countries. It is 
usually attributed to Thomas a Kempis ; but there is 
reason to believe that he was merely its translator, and 
the book that is really known to be his* is in all re- 
spects so inferior that it is difficult to believe that " The 
Imitation " proceeded from the same pen. It is consid- 
ered more probable that the real author was John Ger- 
son. Chancellor of the University of Paris, a most learn- 
ed and devout man, who died in 1429. 

Some of the greatest men of genius have had the 
shortest biographies. Of Plato, one of the great fa- 
thers of moral philosophy, we have no personal ac- 
count. If he had wife and children, we hear nothing of 
them. About the life of Aristotle there is the greatest 
diversity of opinion. One says he was a Jew ; another, 
that he only got his information from a Jew : one says 
he kept an apothecary's shop ; another, that he was 

* The "Dialogus Novitiorara dc Contemptu Mundi," 



290. Unrecorded Lives. [chap. x. 

only the son of a physician: one alleges that he was 
an atheist ; another, that he was a Trinitarian — and so 
forth. But we know almost as little with respect to 
many men of comparatively modern times. Thus, how 
little do w^e know of the lives of Spenser, author of 
*' The Faerie Queen," and of Butler, the author of " Hu- 
dibras," beyond the fact that they lived in comparative 
obscurity, and died in extreme poverty ! How little, 
comparatively, do we know of the life of Jeremy Tay- 
lor, the golden preacher, of whom we should like to 
have known so much ! 

The author of " Philip Van Artevelde " has said that 
" the world knows nothing of its greatest men." And 
doubtless oblivion has enwrapt in its folds many great 
men, who have done great deeds and been forgotten. 
Augustine speaks of Romanianus as the greatest genius 
that ever lived, and yet we know nothing of him but his 
name; he is as much forgotten as the builders of the 
Pyramids. Gordiani's epitaph was written in five lan- 
guages, yet it sufficed not to rescue him from oblivion. 

Many, indeed, are the lives worthy of record that have 
remained unwritten. Men who have written books have 
been the most fortunate in this respect, because they 
possess an attraction for literary men which those whose 
lives have been embodied in deeds do not possess. Thus 
there have been lives written of poets laureate who 
were mere men of their time, and of their time only. 
Dr. Johnson includes some of them in his " Lives of the 
Poets," such as Edmund Smith and others, whose poems 
are now no longer known. The lives of some men of 
letters — such as Goldsmith, Swift, Sterne, and Steele — 
have been written again and again, while great men of 
action, men of. science, and men of industry, are left 
without a record.* 

. * The Life of Sir Charles Bell, one of our greatest physiologists, 
was left to be written by Amedee Pichot, a Frenchman ; and though 



CHAP, x] Favorite Books of Great Men. 291 

We have said that a man may be known by the com- 
pany he keeps in his books. Let us mention a few of 
the favorites of the best-known men. Plutarch's ad- 
mirers have ah'eady been referred to. Montaigne also 
has been the companion of most meditative men. Al- 
though Shakspeare must have studied Plutarch careful- 
ly, inasmuch as he copied from him freely, even to his 
very words, it is remarkable that Montaigne is the only 
book which we certainly know to have been in the poet's 
library; one of Shakspeare's existing autographs having 
been found in a copy of Florio's translation of " The Es- 
says," which also contains, on the fly-leaf, the autograph 
of Ben Jonson. 

Milton's favorite books were Homer, Ovid, and Eurip- 
ides. The latter book was also the favorite of Charles 
James Fox, who regarded the study of it as especially 
useful to a public speaker. On the other hand, Pitt 
took especial delight in Milton — whom Fox did not ap- 
preciate — taking pleasure in reciting, from " Paradise 
Lost," the grand speech of Belial before the assembled 
powers of Pandemonium. Another favorite book of 
Pitt's was Newton's " Principia." Again, the Earl of 
Chatham's favorite book was " Barrow's Sermons," 
which he read so often as to be able to repeat them from 
memory ; while Burke's companions were Demosthenes,* 
Milton, Bolingbroke, and Young's " Night Thoughts." 

Ciirran's favorite was Homer, which he read through 
once a year. Virgil was another of his favorites — his 
biographer, Phillips, saying that he once saw him read- 
ing the "^neid" in the cabin of a Holyhead packet 
while every one about him was prostrate by sea-sickness. 

Of the poets, Dante's favorite was Virgil ; Corneille's 

Sir Charles Bell's letters to his brother have since been published, his 
Life still remains to be written. It may also be added that the best 
Life of Goethe has been written bv an Englishman, and the best Life 
of Frederick the Great bv a Scotchman. 



292 Favorite Books of Great Men. [chap. x. 

was Lucan ; Schiller's was Sbakspeare ; Gray's was 
Spenser; while Coleridge admired Collins and Bowles. 
Dante himself was a favorite with most great poets, 
from Chaucer to Byron and Tennyson. Lord Brough- 
am, Macaulay, and Carlyle have alike admired and eu- 
logized the great Italian. The former advised the stu- 
dents at Glasgow that, next to Demosthenes, the study 
of Dante was the best preparative for the eloquence of 
the pulpit or the bar. Robert Hall sought relief in 
Dante from the racking pains of spinal disease ; and 
Sydney Smith took to the same poet for comfort and 
solace in his old age. It was characteristic of Goethe 
that his favorite book should have been Spinoza's 
" Ethics," in which he said he had found a peace and 
consolation such as he had been able to find in no other 
work.* 

Barrow's favorite was St. Chrysostom ; Bossuet's was 
Homer. Bunyan's Avas the old legend of Sir Bevis of 
Southampton, which in all probability gave him the first 
idea of his " Pilgrim's Progress." One of the best prel- 
ates that ever sat on the English bench, Dr. John Sharp, 
said, " Shakspeare and the Bible have made me Arch- 
bishop of York." The two books which most impressed 
John Wesley when a young man, were " The Imitation 
of Christ " and Taylor's " Holy Living and Dying." Yet 

* It is not a little remarkable that the pious Schleiermacher should 
have concurred in opinion with Goethe as to the merits of Spinoza, 
though he was a man excommunicated by the Jews, to whom he be- 
longed, and denounced by the Christians as a man little better than 
an atheist. "The Great Spirit of the world," says Schleiermacher, 
in his Rede iiber die Religion^ "penetrated the holy but repudiated 
Spinoza; the Infinite was his beginning and his end; the universe 
his only and eternal love. He was filled with religion and religious 
feehng ; and therefore is it that he stands alone, unapproachable, the 
master in his art, but elevated above the profiine w^orld, without adher- 
ents, and without even citizenship." 

Cousin also says of Spinoza: "The author whom this pretended 
atheist most resembles is the unknown author of ' The Imitation of 
Jesus Christ.'." 



CHAP. X.] Favorii^ Boohs of Great Men. 293 

^yesley was accustomed to caution his young friends 
against overmuch reading. " Beware you be not swal- 
lowed up in books," he would say to them ; " an ounce 
of love is worth a pound of knowledge." 

Wesley's own Life has been a great favorite with 
many thoughtful readers. Coleridge says, in his preface 
to Southey's " Life of Wesley," that it was more often 
in his hands than any other in his ragged book-regiment. 
" To this work, and to tlie Life of Richard Baxter," he 
says, "I was used to resort whenever sickness and lan- 
guor made me feel the want of an old friend of whose 
company I could never be tired. How many and many 
an hour of self-oblivion do I owe to this Life of Wesley; 
and how often have I argued with it, questioned, re- 
monstrated, been peevish, and asked pardon ; then again 
listened, and cried, ' Right ! Excellent 1' and in yet 
heavier hours entreated it, as it were, to continue talking 
to me; for that I heard and listened, and was soothed, 
though I could make no reply !"'^ 

Soumet had only a very few books in his library, but 
they were of the best — Homer, Yirgil, Dante, Camoens, 
Tasso, and Milton. De Quincey's favorite few were 
Donne, Chillingworth, Jeremy Taylor, Milton, South, 
Barrow, and Sir Thomas Browne. He described these 
writers as "a pleiad or constellation of seven golden 
stars, such as, in their class, no literature can match," 
and from whose works he would undertake " to build 
up an entire body of philosophy." 

Frederick the Great, of Prussia, manifested his strong 
French leanings in his choice of books, his principal fa- 
vorites being Bayle, Rousseau, Voltaire, Rollin, Fleury, 
Malebranche, and one English author — Locke. Llis es- 
pecial favorite was Bayle's Dictionary, which was the 
first book that laid hold of his mind ; and he thought so 

* Preface to the new edition of Southey's "Life of Wesley " 
(18G4). 



294: Favorite Books of Greo^ Men. [chap. x. 

highly of it that he himself made an abridgment and 
translation of it into German, which was published. It 
w^as a saying of Frederick's that " books make np no 
small part of true happiness." In his old age he said, 
" My latest passion will be for literature." 

It seems odd that Marshal Blucher's favorite book 
should have been Klopstock's " Messiah," and Napoleon 
Bonaparte's favorites Ossian's " Poems " and the " Sor- 
rows of Werther." But Napoleon's range of reading 
was very extensive. It included Homer, Virgil, Tasso; 
novels of all countries; histories of all times; mathe- 
matics, legislation, and theology. He detested what he 
called "the bombast and tinsel" of Voltaire. The 
praises of Homer and Ossian he was never wearied of 
sounding. " Read again," he said to an officer on board 
\\\Q Bellerophon — "read again the poet of Achilles; de- 
vour Ossian. Those are the poets who lift up the soul, 
and give to man a colossal greatness."* . 

The Duke of Wellington was an extensive reader ; 
his principaL favorites were Clarendon, Bishop Butler, 
Smith's " Wealth of Nations," Hume, the Archduke 
Charles, Leslie, and the Bible. He was also particular- 

* Napoleon also read Milton carefally, and it has been related of 
him by Sir Colin Campbell, who resided with Napoleon at Elba, that, 
when speaking of the battle of Austerlitz, he said that a particular 
disposition of his artillery, which, in its results, had a decisive effect in 
winning the battle, was suggested to his mind by the recollection of 
four lines in Milton. The lines occur in the sixth book, and are de- 
scriptive of Satan's artifice duiing the war Avith Heaven : 

" In hollow cube 
Training his devilish engiu'ry, impal'cl 
On every side with sliadowincj squadrons deep 
To hide the fraudy 

"The indubitable fact," says Mr. Edwards, in his book "On Libra- 
ries," "that these lines have a certain appositeness to an important 
manoeuvre at Austerlitz, gives an independent intei'est to the story; 
but it is highly imaginative to ascribe the victory to that manoeuvre. 
And for the other prehminaries of the tale, it is unfortunate that Na- 
poleon had learned a good deal about war long before he had learned 
any thing about Milton." 



CHAP. X.] Books ilie Inspirers of Youth. 295 

ly interested by French and English memoirs — more 
especially the French Memoires pour servir of all kinds. 
When at Walmer, Mr. Gleig says the Bible, the Prayer- 
book, Taylor's " Holy Living and Dying," and Caesar's 
" Commentaries," lay within his reach ; and, judging by 
the marks of use on them, they must have been much 
read and often consulted. 

While books are among the best companions of old 
age, they are often the best inspirers of youth. The 
first book that makes a deep impression on a young 
man's mind often constitutes an epoch in his life. It 
may fire the heart, stimulate the enthusiasm, and, by 
directing his efforts into unexpected channels, perma- 
nently influence his character. The new book, in which 
we form an intimacy with a new friend, whose mind is 
wiser and riper than our own, may thus form an im- 
portant starting-point in the history of a life. It may 
sometimes almost be regarded in the light of a new 
birth. 

From the day when James Edward Smith was pre- 
sented with his first botanical lesson-book, and Sir Jo- 
seph Banks fell in with Gerard's "Herbal" — from the 
time wlien Alfieri first read Plutarch, and Schiller made 
his first acquaintance with Shakspeare, and Gibbon de- 
voured the first volume of " The Universal History " — 
each dated an inspiration so exalted that they felt as if 
their real lives had only then begun. 

In the earlier part of his youth. La Fontaine was dis- 
tinguished for his idleness, but hearing an ode by Mal- 
herbe read, he is said to have exclaimed, " I too am a 
jDoet," and his genius was awakened. Charles Bossuet's 
mind was first fired to study by reading, at an early 
age, Fontenelle's " Eloges " of men of science. Another 
work of Fontenelle's—" On the Plurality of Worlds '*— 
influenced the mind of Lalande m making choice of a 
profession. " It is with pleasure," says Lalande himself, 



296 Boohs the Awakeners of Genius. [cHAP. x. 

in a preface to the book, which he afterwards edited, 
" that I acknowledge my obHgation to it for that de- 
vouring activity which its perusal first excited in me at 
the age of sixteen, and which I have since retained." 

In like manner, Lacepede was directed to the study 
of natural history by the perusal of Buffon's " Histoire 
IN'aturelle," which he found in his father's library, and 
read over and over again, until he almost knew it by 
heart. Goethe was greatly influenced by the reading 
of Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield," just at the crit- 
ical moment of his mental development; and he attrib- 
uted to it much of his best education. The reading of 
a prose "Life of Gotz von Berlichingen " afterwards 
stimulated him to delineate his character in a poetic 
form. " The figure of a rude, well-meaning self-helper," 
he said, "in a wild, anarchic time, excited my deepest 
sympathy." 

Keats was an insatiable reader when a boy; but it 
was the perusal of the "Faerie Queen," at the age of 
seventeen, that first lit the fire of his genius. The same 
poem is also said to have been the inspirer of Cowley, 
who found a copy of it accidentally lying on the win- 
dow of his mother's apartment; and reading and ad- 
miring it, he became, as he relates, irrecoverably a poet. 

Coleridge speaks of the great influence which the 
poems of BqwIcs had in forming his own mind. The 
works of a past age, says he, seem to a young man to 
be things of another race; but the writings of a con- 
temporary " possess a reality for him, and inspire an 
actual friendship as of a man for a man. His very 
admiration is the wind which fans and feeds his hope. 
The poems themselves assume the properties of flesh 
and blood."* 

But men have not merely been stimulated to under- 



* " Biogvaphia Literaria," cliap. i. 



CHAP. X.] Bentham and ^^ Telemachusy 297 

take special literary pursuits by the perusal of particu- 
lar books; they have been also stimulated by them to 
enter upon particular lines of action in the serious busi- 
ness of life. Thus, Henry Marty u was powerfully in- 
fluenced to enter upon his heroic career as a mission- 
ary by perusing the Lives of Henry Brainerd and Dr. 
Carey, who had opened up the furrows in which he 
went forth to sow the seed. 

Bentham has described the extraordinary influence 
which the perusal of " Telemachus " exercised upon his 
mind in boyhood. "Another book," said he, "and of 
far higher character (than a collection of Fairy Tales, 
to which he refers), was placed in my hands. It was 

* Telemachus.' In my own imagination, and at the age 
of six or seven, I identified my own personality with 
that of the hero, who seemed to me a model of perfect 
virtue ; and in my walk of life, whatever it may come 
to be, why (said I to myself, every now and then) — 
why should not I be a Telemachus ? . . . That romance 

• may be regarded as the foundation-stone of my ichole 
character — the starting-point from whence my career of 
life commenced. The first dawning in my mind of the 

* Principles of Utility ' may, I think, be traced to it."* 

Cobbett's first favorite, because his only book, which 
he bought for threepence, was Swift's " Tale of a Tub," 
the repeated perusal of which had, doubtless, much to 
do with the formation of his pithy, straight-forward, 
and hard-hitting style of writiag. The delight with 
Avhich Pope, when a school-boy, read Ogilvy's "Homer" 
was, most probably, the origin of the English " Iliad ;" 
as the "Percy Pehques" fired the juvenile mind of 
Scott, and stimulated him to enter upon the collection 
and composition of his " Border Ballads." Keightley's 
first reading of " Paradise Lost," when a boy, led to his 

* Sir John Bowring's " Memoirs of Beutham," p. 10. 

X2 



298 Humanizing Influence of Books, [chap. x. 

afterwards undertaking his Life of the poet. " The 
reading," he says, " of ' Paradise Lost ' for the first time 
forms, or should form, an era in the life of every one 
possessed of taste and poetic feeling. To my mind, 
that time is ever present. . . . Ever since, the poetry 
of Milton has formed my constant study — a source of 
delight in prosperity, of strength and consolation in ad- 
versity." 

Good books are thus among the best of companions; 
and, by elevating the thoughts and aspirations, they act 
as preservatives against low associations. "A natural 
turn for reading and intellectual pursuits," says Thomas 
Hood, " probably preserved me from the moral ship- 
wreck so apt to befall those who are deprived in early 
life of their parental pilotage. My books kept me from 
the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, the saloon. The closet 
associate of Pope and Addison, the mind accustomed to 
the noble though silent discourse of Shakspeare and 
Milton, will hardly seek or put up with low company 
and slaves." 

It has been truly said that the best books are those 
which most resemble good actions. They are purify- 
ing, elevating, and sustaining ; they enlarge and liberal- 
ize the mind ; they preserve it against vulgar worldli- 
ness; they tend to produce high-minded cheerfulness 
and equanimity of character ; they fashion, and shape, 
and humanize the mind. In the Northern universities, 
the schools in which the ancient classics are studied are 
appropriately styled " The Humanity Classes."* 

* Notwithstanding recent censures of classical studies as a useless 
Avaste of time, there can be no doubt that they give the highest finish 
to intellectual culture. The ancient classics contain the most con- 
summate models of literary art ; and the greatest writers have been 
their most diligent students. Classical culture was the instrument 
with which Erasmus and the Reformers purified Europe. It distin- 
guished the great patriots of the seventeenth centuiy ; and it has ever 
since characterized our greatest statesmen. " I know not how it is," 
says an English writer, "but their commerce Avith the ancients ap- 



CHAP. X.] Books Xecessaries of Life. 299 

Erasmus, the great scholar, was even of opinion that 
books were the necessaries of hfe, and clothes the luxu- 
ries; and he frequently postponed baying the latter un- 
til he had supphed himself with the former. His great- 
est favorites Avere the writings of Cicero, which he says 
he always felt himself the better for reading. "I can 
never," he says, "read the works of Cicero on ^Old 
Age,' or 'Friendship,' or his *Tusculan Disputations,' 
without fervently pressing them to my lips, without be- 
ing penetrated with veneration for a mind little short of 
inspired by God himself." It was the accidental perusal 
of Cicero's " Hortensius " which first detached St. Au- 
gustine — until then a profligate and abandoned sensu- 
alist — from his immoral life, and started him upon the 
course of inquiry and study which led to his becoming 
the greatest among the Fathers of the Early Church. 
Sir William Jones made it a practice to read through, 
once a year, the writings of Cicero, " whose life, indeed," 
says his biographer, " was the great exemplar of his 
own." 

When the good old Puritan Baxter came to enumer- 
ate the valuable and delightful things of w^hich death 
would deprive him, his mind reverted to the pleas- 
ures he had derived from books and study. " When I 
die," he said, " I must depart, not only from sensual de- 
lights, but from the more manly pleasures of my stud- 
ies, knowledge, and converse with many wise and godly 
men, and from all my pleasure in reading, hearing, pub- 
lic and private exercises of rehgion, and such like. I 
must leave ray library, and turn over those pleasant 
books no more. I must no more come among the liv- 

pears to me to produce, in those who constantly practice it, a steady- 
ing and composing effect upon their judgment, not of literary works 
only, but of men and events in general. They are like persons who 
have had a weighty and impressive experience ; they are more truly 
than others under the empire of facts, and more independent of the 
language current among those with whom they live." 



800 Moral Influence of Books. [chap. X. 

ing, nor see the faces of my faithful friends, nor be seen 
of man ; houses, and cities, and fields, and countries, gar- 
dens, and walks, will be as nothing to me. I shall no 
more hear of the affairs of the world, of man, or wars, 
or other news ; nor see what becomes of that beloved 
interest of wisdom, piety, and peace, which I desire may 
prosper." 

It is unnecessary to speak of the enormous moral influ- 
ence which books have exercised upon the general civ- 
ilization of mankind, from the Bible downward. They 
contain the treasured knowledge of the human race. 
They are the record of all labors, achievements, specula- 
tions, successes, and failures, in science, philosophy, re- 
ligion, and morals. They have been the greatest motive- 
powers in all times. " From the Gospel to the Contrat 
Social," says De Bonald, " it is books that have made 
revolutions." Indeed, a great book is often a greater 
thing than a great battle. Even works of fiction have 
occasionally exercised immense power on society. Thus 
Rabelais in France, and Cervantes in Spain, overturned 
at the same time the dominion of monkery and chivalry, 
employing no other weapons but ridicule, the natural 
contrast of human terror. The people laughed, and felt 
reassured. So "Telemachus" appeared, and recalled 
men back to the harmonies of nature. 

" Poets," says Hazlitt, " are a longer-lived race than 
heroes : they breathe more of the air of immortality. 
They survive more entire in their thoughts and acts. 
We have all that Virgil or Homer did, as much as if 
we had lived at the same time with them. We can 
hold their works in our hands, or lay them on our pil- 
lows, or put them to our lips. Scarcely a trace of what 
the others did is left upon the earth, so as to be visible 
to common eyes. The one, the dead authors, are living 
men, still breathing and moving in their writings ; the 
others, the conquerors of the world, are but the ashes in 



CHAP. X.] The Immortality of Literature. 301 

an urn. The sympathy (so to speak) between thought 
and thought is more intimate and vital than that be- 
tween thought and action. Thought is Hnked to thought 
as flame kindles into flame ; the tribute of admiration to 
the manes of departed heroism is like burning incense 
in a marble monument. Words, ideas, feelings, with the 
progress of time harden into substances : things, bodies, 
actions, moulder away, or melt into a sound — into thin 
air. . . . N'ot only a man's actions are effaced and van- 
ish with him; his virtues and generous qualities die 
with him also. His intellect only is immortal, and be- 
queathed unimpaired to posterity. Words are the only 
things that last forever."* 

* Hazlitt's Table Talk : " On Thought and Action." 




CHAPTER XI. 

COMPANIONSHIP IN MAEEIAGE. 

" Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks, 
Shall win my love." — Shakspeare. 

' ' In the husband Wisdom, in the wife Gentleness. " 

George Herbert. 

. "If God had designed woman as man's master, He would have 
taken her from his head ; if as his slave, He would have taken her 
from his feet; but as He designed her for his companion and equal, 
He took her from his side." — St. Augustine — "Z)e Civitate Dei." 

"Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above ru- 
bies. . . . Her husband is known in the gates, and he sitteth among 
the elders of the land. . . . Strength and honor are her clothing, 
and she shall rejoice in time to come. She openeth her mouth with 
wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness. Slie looketh well 
to the ways of her husband, and eateth not the bread of idleness. 
Her children arise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and lie 
praiseth her. " — Proverbs of Solomon. 

TPIE character of men, as of women, is powerfully in- 
fluenced by their companionship in all the stages 
of life. We have already spoken of the influence of the 
mother in forming the character of her children. She 
makes the moral atmosphere in which they live, and by 
which their minds and souls are nourished, as their 
bodies are by the physical atmosphere they breathe. 
And while woman is the natural cherisher of infancy 
and the instructor of childhood, she is also the guide 
and counsellor of youth, and the confidant and compan- 
ion of manhood, in her various relations of mother, sis- 
ter, lover, and wife. In short, the influence of woman 
more or less affects, for good or for evil, the entire des- 
tinies of man. 

The respective social functions and duties of m#ii and 



CHAP. XL] The Mission of Man and Woman. 303 

women are clearly deiined by nature. God created man 
and woman, each to do their proper work, each to fill 
their proper sphere. ISTeither can occupy the position, 
nor perform the functions, of the other. Their several 
vocations are perfectly distinct. Woman exists on her 
own account, as man does on his, at the same time that 
each has intimate relations with the other. Humanity 
needs both for the purposes of the race, and in every 
consideration of social progress both rnust necessarily 
be included. 

Though companions and equals, yet, as regards the 
measure of their powers, they are unequal. Man is 
stronger, more muscular, and of rougher fibre ; woman 
is more delicate, sensitive, and nervous. The one excels 
in power of brain, the other in qualities of heart; and 
though the head may rule, it is the heart that influences. 
Both are alike adapted for the respective functions they 
have to perform in life ; and to attempt to impose wom- 
an's work upon man would be quite as absurd as to 
attempt to impose man's work upon woman. Men are 
sometimes woman-like, and women are sometimes man- 
like ; but these are only exceptions which prove the rule. 

Although man's qualities belong more to the head, 
and woman's more to the heart, yet it is not less neces- 
sary that man's heart should be cultivated as well as his 
head, and woman's head cultivated as well as her heart. 
A heartless man is as much out of keeping in civilized 
society as a stupid and unintelligent woman. The cul- 
tivation of all parts of the moral and intellectual nature 
is requisite to form the man or woman of healthy and 
well-balanced character. Without sympathy or consid- 
eration for others, man were a poor, stunted, sordid, self- 
ish being ; and without cultivated intelligence, the most 
beautiful woman were little better than a well-dressed 
doll. 

It used to be a favorite notion about woman that her 



804 Views of Woman^s Character. [chap. xi. 

weakness and dependency upon others constituted her 
principal claim to admiration. " If we were to form an 
image of dignity in a man," said Sir Richard Steele, 
" we should give him wisdom and valor, as being es- 
sential to the character of manhood. In like manner, 
if you describe a right woman in a laudable sense, she 
should have gentle softness, tender fear, and all those 
parts of life which distinguish her from the other sex, 
with some subordination to it, but an inferiority which 
makes her lovely." Thus, her weakness was to be cul- 
tivated, rather than her strength; her folly, rather than 
her wisdom. She was to be a weak, fearful, tearful, 
characterless, inferior creature, with just sense enough 
to understand the soft nothings addressed to her by the 
" superior " sex. She was to be educated as an orna- 
mental appanage of man, rather as an independent intel- 
ligence — or as a wife, mother, companion, or friend. 

Pope, in one of his "Moral Essays," asserts that 
"most women have no characters at all;" and again he 
says : 

" Ladies, like variegated tulips, show : 
'Tis to their changes half their charms we owe, 
Fine by defect and delicately weak." 

This satire characteristically occurs in the poet's " Epis- 
tle to Martha Blount*" the housekeeper who so tyran- 
nically ruled him; and in the same verses he spitefully 
girds at Lady Mary Wortley Montague, at whose feet 
he had throAvn himself as a lover, and been contemptu- 
ously rejected. But Pope was no judge of women, nor 
was he even a very wise or tolerant judge of men. 

It is still too much the practice to cultivate the weak- 
ness of woman rather than her strength, and to render 
her attractive rather than self-reliant. Her sensibilities 
are developed at the expense of her health of body as 
well as mind. She lives, moves, and has her being, in 
the sympathy of others. She dresses that she may at- 



CHAP. XI.] Early Education of Both Sexes. 305 

tract, and is biirdeiied with accomplishments that she 
may be chosen. Weak, trembhng, and dependent, she 
incurs the risk of becoming a living embodiment of 
the Italian proverb — "so good that she is good for 
nothing." 

On the other hand, the education of .young men too 
often errs on the side of selfishness. While the boy is 
encouraged to trust mainly to his own efforts in push- 
ing his way in the world, the girl is encouraged to rely 
almost entirely upon others. He is educated with too 
exclusive reference to himself, and she is educated with 
too exclusive reference to him. He is taught to be self- 
reliant and self-dependent, while she is taught to be dis- 
trustful of herself, dependent, and self-sacrificing in all 
things. Thus the intellect of the one is cultivated at 
the expense of the affections, and the affections of the 
other at the expense of the intellect. 

It is unquestionable that the highest qualities of wom- 
an are displayed in her relationship to others, through 
the medium of her affections. She is the nurse whom 
nature has given to all humankind. She takes charge 
of the helpless, and nourishes and cherishes those we 
love. She is the presiding genius of the fireside, where 
she creates an atmosphere of serenity and contentment 
suitable for the nurture and growth of character in its 
best forms. She is by her very constitution compas- 
sionate, gentle, patient, and self-denying. Lc^dng, hope- 
ful, trustful, her eye sheds brightness everywhere. It 
shines upon coldness and warms it, upon suffering and 
relieves it, upon sorrow and cheers it : 

' ' Her sUver flow 

Of subtle-paced counsel in distress, 
Eight to the heart and brain, though undescried, 

Winning its way with extreme gentleness 
Through all the outworks of suspicion's pride." • 

Woman has been styled the angel of tlje unfortunate. 



306 Woinan's Affectionateness. [chap. xi. 

She is ready to help the weak, to raise the fallen, to 
comfort the suffering. It was characteristic of woman 
that she should have been the first to build and endow 
a hospital. It has been said that wherever a human 
being is in suffering his sighs call a woman fo his side. 
When Mungo, Park, lonely, friendless, and famished, 
after being driven forth from an African village by the 
men, was preparing to spend the night under a tree, 
exposed to the rain and the wild beasts which there 
abounded, a poor negro woman, returning from the la- 
bors of the field, took compassion upon him, conducted 
him into her hut, and there gave him food, and succor, 
and shelter.* 

But while the most characteristic qualities of woman 
are displayed through her sympathies and affections, it 
is also necessary for her own happiness, as a self-de- 
pendent being, to develop and strengthen her charac- 
ter, by d*ue self-culture, self-reliance, and self-control. 
It is not desirable, even were it possible, to close the 
beautiful avenues of the heart. Self-reliance of the best 
kind does not involve any limitation in the range of 
human sympathy. But the happiness of woman, as of 
man, depends in a great measure upon her individual 
completeness of character. And that self-dependence 

* Mungo Park declared that he was more affected hy this incident 
than by any other that befell him in the com'se of his travels. As he 
lay down to jleep on the mat spread for him on the floor of the hut, 
his benefactress called to the female part of the family to resume their 
task of spinning cotton, in which they continued employed far into the 
night. "They lightened their labor with songs," says the traveller, 
" one of which was composed extempore, for I was myself the subject 
of it ; it was sung by one of the young women, the rest joining in a 
chorus. The air was sweet and plaintive, and the words, literally 
translated, were these: 'The winds roared, and the rains fell. The 
poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree. He 
has no mother to bring him milk, no wife to grind his com.' Chorus 
— 'Let us pity the white man, no mother has he!' Trifling as this 
recital may appear, to a person in nly situation the circumstance was 
affecting in the highest degree. I was so oppressed by such unex- 
pected kindness, Itiat sleep fled before my eyes." 



CHAP. XL] Culture of Both Sexes. 807 

which springs from the due cultivation of the intellect- 
ual powers, conjoined with a proper discipline of the 
heart and conscience, will enable her to be more useful 
in life as well as happy • to dispense blessings intelligent- 
ly as well as to enjoy them ; and most of all those which 
spring from mutual dependence and social sympathy. 

To maintain a high standard of purity in society, the 
culture of both sexes must be in harmony, and keep 
equal pace. A pure womanhood must be accompanied 
by a pure manhood. The same moral law applies alike 
to both. It would be loosening the foundations of vir- 
tue to countenance the notion that, because of a differ- 
ence in sex, man were at liberty to set morality at defi- 
ance, and to do that with impunity which, if done by a 
woman, would stain her character for life. To main- 
tain a pure and virtuous condition of society, therefore, 
man as well as woman must be pure and virtuous ; both 
alike shunning all acts infringing on the heart, charac- 
ter, and conscience — shunning them as poison, which, 
once imbibed, can never be entirely thrown out again, 
but mentally embitters, to a greater or less extent, the 
happiness of after-life. 

And here we would venture to touch upon a delicate 
topic. Though it- is one of universal and engrossing 
human interest, the moralist avoids it, the educator 
shuns it, and parents taboo it. It is almost considered 
indeUcate to refer to: Love .as between the sexes; and 
young readers are left to gather their only notions of it 
from the impossible love-stories that fill the shelves of 
circulating libraries. This strong and absorbing feel- 
ing, this besoin cVaimer — which nature has for wise 
purjjoses made so strong in woman that it colors her 
whole life and history, though it may form but an epi- 
sode in the life of man — is usually left to follow its 
own inclinations, and to grow up for the most part un- 
checked, without any guidance or direction whatever. 



808 The Sentiment of Love. [chap. XL 

Althougli nature spurns all formal rules and direc- 
tions in affairs of love, it might at all events be possi- 
ble to implant in young minds such views of Character 
as should enable them to discriminate between the true 
and the false, and to accustom them to hold in esteem 
those qualities of moral purity and integrity Avithout 
which life is but a scene of folly and misery. It may 
not be possible to teach young people to lo^^e wisely, 
but they may at least be guarded by parental advice 
against the frivolous and despicable passions which so 
often usurp its name. " Love," it has been said, " in 
the common acceptation of the term, is folly ; but love, 
in its purity, its loftiness, its unselfishness, is not only a 
consequence, but a proof, of our moral excellence. The 
sensibility to moral beauty, the forgetfulness of self in 
the admiration engendered by it, all prove its claim to a 
high moral influence. It is the triumph of the unself- 
ish over the selfish part of our nature." 

It is by means of this divine passion that the w^orld 
is kept ever fresh and young. It is the perpetual mel- 
ody of humanity. It sheds an effulgence upon youth, 
and throws a halo round age. It glorifies the present 
by the light it casts backward, and it lightens the fu- 
ture by the beams it casts forward. The love which is 
the outcome of esteem and admiration has an eleva- 
ting and purifying effect on the character. It tends to 
emancipate one from the slavery of self. It is alto- 
gether unsordid; itself is its only price. It inspires 
gentleness, sympathy, mutual faith, and confidence. 
True -love also, in a measure, elevates the intellect. 
"Ail love renders wise in a degree," says the poet 
Browning, and the most gifted minds have been the 
sincerest lovers. Great souls make all affections great ; 
they elevate and consecrate all true delights. The sen- 
timent even brings to light qualities before lying dor- 
mant and unsuspected. It elevates the aspirations, ex- 



CHAP. XI.] Love an Insjpirer. 309 

panels the • soul, and stimulates the mental powers. 
One of the finest compliments ever paid to a woman 
was that of Steele, when he said of Lady Elizabeth 
Hastings, " that to have loved her was a liberal educa- 
tion." Viewed in this light, woman is an educator in 
the highest sense, because, above all other educators, 
slie educates humanly and lovingly. 

It has been said that no man and no woman can be 
regarded as complete in their experience of life until 
they have been subdued into union with the world 
through their affections. As woman is not woman un- 
til she has known love, neither is man man. Both are 
requisite to each other's completeness. Plato enter- 
tained the idea that lovers each sought a likeness in the 
other, and that love was only the divorced half of the 
original human being entering into union with its coun- 
terpart. But philosophy would here seem to be at 
fault, for affection quite as often springs from unlike- 
ness as from likeness in its object. 

The true union must needs be one of mind as well as 
of heart, and based on mutual esteem as well as mutual 
affection. " Xo true and enduring love," says Fichte, 
" can exist without esteem ; every other draws regret 
after it, and is unworthy of any noble human soul." 
One can not really love the bad, but always something 
that we esteem and respect as well as admire. In short, 
true union must rest on qualities of character, which 
rule in domestic as in public life. 

But there is something far more than mere respect 
and esteem in the union between man and wife. The 
feeling on v>-hich it rests is far deeper and tenderer — 
such, indeed, as never exists between men or between 
women. " In matters of affection," says Xathaniel 
Hawthorne, " there is always an impassable gulf between 
man and man. They can never quite grasp each other's 
hands, and therefore man never derives anv intimate 



310 Love a Purifier. [chap. xi. 

help, any heart-sustenance, from his brothei* man, but 
from woman — his mother, his sister, or his wife."* 

Man enters a new world of joy, and sympathy, and 
human interest, through the porch of love. He enters 
a new world in his home — the home of his own making 
— altogether different from the home of his boyhood, 
where each day brings with it a succession of new joys 
and experiences. He enters also, it may be, a new world 
of trials and sorrows, in which he often gathers his best 
culture and discipline. " Family life," says Sainte-Beuve, 
"may be full of thorns and cares; but they are fruitful: 
all others are dry thorns." And again : " If a man's 
home, at a certain period of life, does not contain chil- 
dren, it will probably be found filled with follies or with 
vices."t 

A life exclusively occupied in affairs of business in- 
sensibly tends to narrow and harden the character. It 
is mainly occupied with self — watching for advantages, 
and guarding against sharp practice on the part of oth- 
ers. Thus the character unconsciously tends to grow 
suspicious and ungenerous. The best corrective of such 
influences is always the domestic — by withdrawing the 
mind from thoughts that are wholly gainful, by taking- 
it out of its daily rut, and bringing it back to the sanc- 
tuary of home for refreshment and rest : 

" That truest, rarest light of social joy, 
Which gleams upon the man of many cares." 

" Business," says Sir Henry Taylor, " does but lay 
waste the approaches to the heart, while marriage garri- 
sons the fortress." And however the head may be oc- 
cupied, by labors of ambition or of business — if the 
heart be not occupied by affection for others and sym- 
pathy with them — life, though it may appear to the out- 

* ' ' Transformation, or Monte Beni. " 
t "Portraits Contemporains,"iii., 519. 



CHAP. XI.] Man in the Home. 811 

er world to be a success, will probably be no success at 
all, but a failure.* 

A man's real character will always be more visible in 
his household than anywhere else ; and his practical 
wisdom will be better exhibited by the manner in which 
he bears rule there than even in the larger affairs of 
business or public life. His whole mind may be in his 
business ; but, if he would be happy, his whole heart 
must be in his home. It is there that his genuine quali- 
ties most surely display themselves — there that he shows 
his truthfulness, his love, his sympathy, his consideration 
for others, his uprightness, his manliness — in a word, his 
character. If affection be not the governing principle 
in a household, domestic life may be the most intolera- 
ble of despotisms. Without justice, also, there can be 
neither, love, confidence, nor respect, on which all true 
domestic rule is founded. 

Erasmus speaks of Sir Thomas More's home as " a 
school, and exercise of the Christian religion." "No 
wrangling, no angry word was heard in it ; no one was 
idle ; every one did his duty with alacrity, and not with- 
out a temperate cheerfulness." Sir Thomas won all 
hearts to obedience by his gentleness. He was a man 
clothed in household goodness ; and he ruled so gently 
and wisely that his home was pervaded by an atmos- 

* Mr. Arthur Helps, in one of his Essays, has wisely said : " You 
observe a man becoming day by day richer, or advancing in station, 
or increasing in professional reputation, and you set him down as a 
successful man in life. But if his home is an ill-regulated one, where 
no links of aflFection extend throughout the family — Avhose former do- 
mestics (and he has had more of them than he can well remember) 
look back upon their sojourn with him as one unblessed by kind words 
or deeds — I contend that that man has not been successful. Whatever 
good-fortune he may have in the world, it is to be remembered that 
he has always left one important fortress untaken behind him. That 
man's life does not surely read well whose benevolence has found no 
central home. It may have sent forth rays in various directions, but 
there should have been a warm focus of love — that home-nest which 
is formed round a good man's heart. ' — Claims of Labor. 



312 The Woman^s Kingdom. [chap. xi. 

phere of love and duty. He himself spoke of the hourly 
interchange of the smaller acts of kindness with the 
several members of his family, as having a claim upon 
his time as strong as those other public occupations of 
his life which seemed to others so much more serious 
and important. 

But the man whose affections are quickenecf by home- 
life does not confine his sympathies within that compar- 
atively narrow sj^here. His love enlarges in the fami- 
ly, and through the family it expands into the world. 
" Love," says Emerson, " is a fire that, kindling its first 
embers in the narrow nook of a private bosom, caught 
from a wandering spark out of another private heart, 
glows and enlarges until it warms and beams upon mifl- 
titudes of men and women, upon the universal heart of 
all, and so lights up the whole world and nature with 
its generous flames." 

It is by the regimen of domestic affection that the 
heart of man is best composed and regulated. The 
home is the woman's kingdom, her state, her world — 
where she governs by affection, by kindness, by the 
power of gentleness. There is nothing which so settles 
the turbulence of a man's nature as his union in life with 
a high-minded woman. There he finds rest, content- 
ment, and happiness — rest of brain and peace of spirit. 
He will also cfften find in her his best counsellor, for her 
instinctive tact will usually lead him right when his own 
unaided reason might be apt to go wrong. The true 
wife is a staff to lean upon in times of trial and difii- 
culty ; and she is never wanting in sj^mpathy and solace 
when distress occurs or fortune frowns. In the time of 
youth, she is a comfort and an ornament of man's life ; 
and she remains a faithful helpmate in maturer years, 
when life has ceased to be an anticipation, and we live 
in its realities. 

What a happy man must Edmund Burke have been, 



"CHAP. XI.] Brain -Women and Hear i- Women. 313 

when he could say of his home, "Every care vanishes 
the moment I enter under my own roof !" And Luther, 
a man full of human affection, speaking of his wife, said, 
" I would not exchange my poverty with her for all the 
riches of Croesus without her." Of marriage he ob- 
served : " The utmost blessing that God can confer on 
a man is the possession of a good and pious wife, with 
whom he may live in peace and tranquillity — to whom 
he may confide his whole possessions, even his life and 
welfare." And again he said, " To rise betimes, and to 
marry young, are what no man ever repents of doing." 

For a man to enjoy true repose and happiness in mar- 
riage, he must have in his vv'ife a soul-mate as well as a 
helpmate. But it is not requisite that she should be 
merely a pale copy of himself. A man no more desires 
in his wife a manly woman, than the w^oman desires in 
her husband a feminine man. A woman's best qualities 
do not reside in her intellect, but in her affections. • She 
gives refreshment by her sympathies, rather than by her 
knowledge. "The brain-women," says Oliver Wendell 
Holmes, "never interest us like the heart- women."* 
Men are often so wearied with themselves that they are 
rather predisposed to admire 'qualities and tastes in oth- 
ers different from their own. " If I were suddenly 
asked," says Mr. Helps, " to give a proof of the goodness 
of God to us, I think I should say that it is most mani- 
fest in the exquisite difference He has made between 
the souls of men and women, so as to create the possi- 
bility of the most comforting and charming companion- 

* "The red heart sends all its instincts up to the white brain, to be 
analyzed, chilled, blanched, and so become pure reason — which is just 
exactly what we do not want of women as women. The current 
should nm the other way. The nice, calm, cold thought, which, in 
women, shapes itself so rapidly that they hardly know it as thought, 
should always travel to the lips via the heart. It does so in those 
women whom all love and admire. . . . The brain -women never 
interest us like the heart- women ; white roses please less than red." — 
The Professor at the Breakfast-table, by Oliver Wen'dell Holmes. 

o 



314 Qualities of the True Wife. [CHAP. Xl." 

ship that the mind of man can imagine."* But though 
no man may love a woman for her understanding, it is 
not the less necessary for her to cultivate it on that ac- 
count.f There may be difference in character, but there 
must be harmony of mind and sentiment — two intelli- 
gent souls as well as two loving hearts.: 

"Two heads in council, two beside the hearth, 
Two in the tangled business of the world, 
Two in the liberal offices of life." 

There are few men who have written so wisely on 
the subject of marriage as Sir Henry Taylor. What he 
says about the influence of a happy union in its relation 
to successful statesmanship applies to all conditions of 
life. The true wife, he says, should possess such quali- 
ties as will tend to make home as much as may be a 
place of repose. To this end, she should have sense 
enough or worth enough to exempt her husband as 
much as possible from the troubles of family manage- 
ment, and more especially from all possibility of debt. 
"She should be pleasing to his eyes and to his taste: 
the taste goes deep into the nature of all men — love is 
hardly apart from it; and in a life of care and excite- 
ment, that home which is "not the seat of love can not 
be a place of repose — rest for the brain, and peace for 
the spirit, being only to be had through the softening 
of the affections. He should look for a clear under- 
standing, cheerfulness, and alacrity of mind, rather than 
gayety and brilUancy, and for a gentle tenderness of dis- 
position in preference to an impassioned nature. Live- 

* " The War and General Culture," 1871. 

t Depend upon it, men set more value on the cultivated minds than, 
on the accomplishments of women, which they are rarely able to ap-^ 
predate. It is a common error, but it is an error, that literature un- 
fits women for the every-day business of life. It is not so with men. 
You see those of the most cultivated minds constantly devoting their 
time and attention to the most homely objects. Literature gives 
women a real and proper weight in society, bnt then they must use it 
Avith discretion." — Rev. Sydney Smith*. 



CHAP. XI.] TJie Golden Rule in Marriage. 315 

• s 

ly talents are too stimulating in a tired man's hoifte — 

passion is too disturbing. . . . 

.... " Her lore should be 
A love that clings not, nor is exigent, 
Encumbers not the active purposes, 
Kor drains their source ; but proffers with free grace 
Pleasure at pleasure touched, at pleasure waived, 
A washing of the weary traveller's feet, 
A quenching of his thirst, a sweet repose, 
Alternate and preparative ; in groves 
Where, loving much the flower that loves the shade, 
And loving much the shade that that flower loves, 
He yet is unbewildered, unen slaved, 
Thence starting hght, and pleasantly let go 
When serious service calls.''* 

Some persons are disappointed in marriage, because 
they expect too much from it ; but many more, because 
they do not bring into the co-partnership their fair 
share of cheerfulness, kindliness, forbearance, and com- 
mon sense. Their imagination has perhaps pictured a 
condition never experienced on this side heaven; and 
M'lien real life comes, with its troubles and cares, there 
is a sudden waking-up as from a dream. Or they look 
for something approaching perfection in their chosen 
companion, and discover by experience that the fairest 
of characters have their weaknesses. Yet it is often 
the very imperfection of human nature, rather than its 
perfection, that makes the strongest claims on the for- 
bearance and sympathy of others, and, in affectionate 
and sensible natures, tends to produce the closest unions. 

The golden rule of married life is, "Bear and for- 
bear." Marriage, like government, is a series of com- 
promises. One must give and take, refrain and re- 
strain, endure and be patient. One may not be blind 
to another's failings, but they may at least be borne 
with good-natured forbearance. Of all qualities, good 
temper is the one that wears and works the best in 

* "The Statesman," pp. 73-75. 



816 Marrying for Beauty. [chap. XL 

mamed life. Conjoined with self-control, it gives pa- 
tience — the patience to bear and forbear, to listen with- 
out retort, to refrain until the angry flash has passed. 
How true it is in marriage that " the soft answer turn- 
eth away wrath !" 

Burns the poet, in speaking of the qualities of a good 
w4fe, divided them into ten parts. Four of these he 
gave to good temper, two to good sense, one to wit, 
one to beauty — such as a sweet face, eloquent eyes, 
a fine person, a graceful carriage ; and the other two 
parts he divided among the other qualities belonging 
to or attending on a wife — such as fortune, connections, 
education (that is, of a higher standard than ordinary), 
family blood, etc. ; but he said : " Divide those two 
degrees as you please, only remember that all these 
minor proportions must be expressed by fractions, for 
there is not any one of them that is entitled to the dig- 
nity of an integer." 

It has been said that girls are very good at making 
nets, but that it would be better still if they would 
learn to make cages. Men are often as easily caught 
as birds, but as difficult to keep. If the wife can not 
make her home bright and happy, so that it shall be 
the cleanest, sweetest, cheerfullest place that her hus- 
band can find refuge in — a retreat from the toils and 
troubles of the outer world — then God help the poor 
man, for he is virtually homeless ! 

IsTo wise person will marry for beauty mainly. It 
may exercise a powerful attraction in the first place, 
but it is found to be of comparatively little consequence 
afterwards. Not that beauty of person is to be under- 
estimated, for, other things being equal, handsomeness 
of form and beauty of features are the outward mani- 
festations of health. But to marry a handsome figure 
without character, fine features unbeautified by senti- 
ment or good-nature, is the most deplorable of mistakes. 



CHAP. XI.] Advice of Lord Burleigh. 817 

As even the finest landscape, seen daily, becomes mo- 
notonous, so does the most beautiful face, unless a beau- 
tiful nature shines through it. The beauty of to-day 
becomes commonplace to-morrow; whereas goodness, 
displayed through the most ordinary features, is peren- 
nially lovely. Moreover, this kind of beauty improves 
Avith age, and time ripens rather than destroys it. Af- 
ter the first year, married people rarely think of each 
other's features, and whether they be classically beauti- 
ful or otherwise. But they never fail to be cognizant 
of each other's temper. "When I see a man," says 
Addison, " with a sour, rivelled face, I can not forbear 
pitying his wife ; and when I meet with an open, in- 
genuous countenance, I think of the happiness of his 
friends, his family, and his relations." 

We have given the views of the poet Burns as to the 
qualities necessary in a good wife. Let us add the ad- 
vice given by Lord Burleigh to his son, embodying the 
•experience of a wise statesman and practised man of the 
world. "When it shall please God," said he, "to bring 
thee to man's estate, use great providence and circum- 
spection in choosing thy wife ; for from thence will 
spring all thy future good or evil. And it is an action 
of thy life like unto a stratagem of war, wherein a man 
can err but once. . . . Inquire diligently of her dis- 
230sition, and how her parents have been inclined in 
their youth.* Let her not be poor, how generous (well- 
born) soever ; for a man can buy nothing in the market 
with gentility. ISTor choose a base and uncomely crea- 
ture altogether for wealth ; for it will cause contempt in 
others, and loathing in thee. ISTeither make choice of a 
dwarf or a fool ; for by the one thou shalt beget a race 
of pigmies, whil^ the othei*. wiJl be thy continual dis- 

* Fnller, the Church historian, with his usual homely mother-wit, 
speaking of the choice of a wife, said briefly, " Take the daughter of a 
good mother." 



818 De Tocqueville on Marriage. [chap. xi. 

grace, and it will yirke (irk) thee to hear her talk. For 
thou shalt find it to thy great grief that there is nothing 
more fulsome (disgusting) than a she-fool." 

A man's moral character is, necessarily, powerfully 
influenced by his wife. A lower nature will drag him 
down, as a higher will lift hitn up. The former will 
deaden his sympathies, dissipate his energies, and dis- 
tort his life ; while the latter, by satisfying his affec- 
tions, w^ill strengthen his moral nature, and, by giving 
him repose, tend to energize his intellect. Not only so, 
but a woman of high principles will insensibly elevate the 
aims and purjooses of her husband, as one of low princi- 
ples will unconsciously degrade them. De Tocqueville 
was profoundly impressed by tliis truth. He enter- 
tained the opinion that man could have no such main- 
stay in life as the companionship of a wife of good tem- 
per and high principle. He says that, in the course of 
his life, he had seen even weak men display real public 
virtue, because they had by their side a woman of noble- 
character, who sustained them in their career, and exer- 
cised a fortifying influence on their views of public duty ; 
while, on the contrary, he had still oftener seen men 
of great and generous instincts transformed into vulgar 
self-seekers, by contact with women of narrow natures, 
devoted to an imbecile love of pleasure, and from whose 
minds the grand motive of Duty was altogether absent. 

De Tocqueville himself had the good-fortune to be 
blessed with an admirable wife;* and in his letters to 
his intimate friends he spoke most gratefully of the 
comfort and support he derived from her sustaining- 
courage, her equanimity of temper, and her nobility of 
character. The more, indeed, that De Tocqueville saw 
of the world and of practical life, the more convinced he 

* She was an Englishwoman — a Miss Motley. It may be mention- 
ed that among other distinguished Frenchmen who have married En- 
glish wives Avere Sismondi, Alfred de Vigny, and Lamartine. 



CHAP. XL] De TocquevilWs Wife. 319 

became of the necessity of healthy domestic conditions 
for a man's growth in virtue and goodness.* Especial- 
ly did he regard marriage as of inestimable importance 
in regard to a man's true Ijappiness ; and he was accus- 
tomed to speak of his own as the wisest action of his 
life. "Many external circumstances of happiness," he 
said, " have been granted to nle. But more than all, I 
have to thank Heaven for having bestow^ed on me true 
domestic happiness, the first of human blessings. As I 
grow older, the portion of my life which iu my youth I 
used to look down upon every day becomes more im-. 
portant in my eyes, and would now easily console me 
for the loss of all the rest." And again, writing to his 
bosom-friend, De Kergorlay, he said : " Of all the bless- 
ings which God has given to me, the greatest of all, in 
my eyes, is to have lighted on Marie. You can not im- 
agine what she is in great trials. Usually so gentle, she 
then becomes strong and energetic. She w^atches me 
without my knowing it; she softens, calms, and strength- 
ens me in difficulties which disturb me but leave her se- 
rene."! In another letter he says : " I can not describe 
to you the happiness yielded in the long run by the ha- 
bitual society of a woman in whose soul all that is good 
in your own is reflected naturally, and even improved. 
When I say or do a thing which seems to me to be per- 
fectly right, I read immediately in Marie's countenance 
an expression of proud satisfaction which elevates me. 
And so, when my conscience reproaches me, her face in- 
stantly clouds over. Although I have great power over 
her mind, I see with pleasure that she awes me ; and so 
long as I love her as I do now, I am sure that I shall never 
allow myself to be drawn into any thing that is wrong.'* 



* Plus je roule dans ce monde, et plus je suis amene a penser qu'il 
n'y a que le bonheur domestique qui signifie quelque chose." — (Euvres 
et Correspondence. 

t De Tocqueville's "Memoir and Remains," vol. i., p. 408. 



320 M. GidzoVs Nolle Wife. [CHAP. xi. 

In the retired life which De Tocqueville led as a liter- 
ary man — political life being closed against him* by the 
inflexible independence of his character — his health fail- 
ed, and he became ill, irritat>le, and querulous. While 
proceeding with his last work, " L'Ancien Regime et la 
Revolution," he wrote: "After sitting at my desk for 
five or six hours, I can write no longer ; the machine re- 
fuses to act. I am in great want of rest, and of a long 
rest. If you add all the perplexities that besiege an au- 
thor towards the end of his work, you will be able to 
imagine. a very wTetched life. I could not go on with 
my task, if it were not for the refreshing calm of Marie's 
companionship. It would be impossible to find a dis- 
position forming a happier contrast to my own. In my 
perpetual irritability of body and mind, she is a ^-ovi- 
dential resource that never fails me."* 

M. Guizot was in like manner sustained and encour- 
aged, amidst his many vicissitudes and disappointments, 
by his noble wife. If he was treated with harshness by 
his political enemies, his consolation was in the tender 
affection which filled his home with sunshine. Though 
his public life was bracing and stimulating, he felt, nev- 
ertheless, that it w^as cold and calculating, and neither 
filled the soul nor elevated the character. "Man longs 
for a happiness," he says, in his "Memoires," "more 
complete and more tender than that which all the labors 
and triumphs of active exertion and public importance 
can bestow. What I know to-day, at the end of my 
race, I have felt Avhen it began, and during its continu- 
ance. Even in the midst of great undertakings, domes- 
tic affections form the basis of life ; and the most brill- 
iant career has only superficial and incomplete enjoy- 
ments, if a stranger to the happy ties of family and 
friendship." 

* De Tocqneville's "Memoir and Remains," vol. ii., p. 48. 



CHAP. XI.] Guizofs Courtshii^ and Married Life. . 821 

The circumstances connected with M. Guizot's court- 
ship and marriage are curious and interesting. While 
a young man living by his pen in Paris, writing books, 
reviews, and translations, he formed a casual acquaint- 
ance with Mademoiselle Pauline de Meulan, a lady of 
great ability, then editor of the Puhliciste. A severe 
domestic calamity having befallen her, she fell ill, and 
was unable for a time to carry on the heavy literary 
work connected with her journal. At this juncture, a 
letter without any signature reached her one day, offer- 
ing a supply of articles, which the writer hoped would 
be Avorthy the reputation of the Puhliciste. The articles 
duly arrived, were accepted, and published. They dealt 
with a great variety of subjects — art, literature, theatric- 
als, and general criticism. When the editor at length 
recovered from her illness, the writer of the articles dis- 
closed himself — it was M. Guizot. An intimacy sprang 
up between them, which ripened into mutual affection, 
and before long ^lademoiselle de Meulan became his wife. 

From that time forward she shared in all her hus- 
band's joys and sorrows, as well as in many of his la- 
bors. Before they became united, he asked her if she 
thought she should ever become dismayed at the vicis- 
situdes of his destiny, which he then saw looming be- 
fore him. She replied that he might assure himself 
that she would always passionately enjoy his triumphs, 
but never heave a sigh over his defeats. When M. 
Guizot became first minister of Louis Philippe, she 
wrote to a friend : " I now see my husband much less 
than I desire, but still I see him. ... If God spares 
us to each other, I shall always be, in the midst of ev- 
ery trial and apprehension, the happiest of beings." 
Little more than six months after these words were 
written, the devoted Avife was laid in her grave ; and 
her sorrowing husband was left thenceforth to tread the 
journey of life alone. 

02 



322 . Burke^ s Portrait of his Wife. [chap. XI. 

Burke was especially happy in his union with Miss 
Nugent, a beautiful, affectionate, and high-minded wom- 
an. The agitation and anxiety of his public life was 
more than compensated by his domestic happiness, 
which seems to have been complete. It was a saying 
of Burke, thoroughly illustrative of his character, that 
" to love the little platoon we belong to in society is the 
germ of all public affections." His description of his 
wife in her youth is probably one of the finest word- 
portraits in the language : 

" She is handsome ; but it is a beauty not arising 
from features, from complexion, or from shape. She 
has all three in a high degree, but it is not by these she 
touches the heart ; it is all that sweetness of temper, 
benevolence, innocence, and sensibility, which a face 
can express, that forms her beauty. She has a face 
that just raises your attention at first sight; it grows 
on you every moment, and you wonder it did no more 
than raise your attention at first. 

" Her eyes have a mild light, but they awe when she 
pleases ; they command, like a good man out of office, 
not by authority, but by virtue. 

■ " Her stature is not tall ; she is not made to be the 
admiration of every body, but the happiness of one. 

" She has all the firmness that does not exclude deli- 
cacy ; she has all the softness that does not imply weak- 
ness. 

" Her voice is a soft, low music — not formed to rule 
in public assemblies, but to cliarm those who can dis- 
tinguish a company from a crowd ; it has this advan- 
tage — you must come close to her to hear it. 

"To describe her body describes her mind — one is 
the transcript of the other; her understanding is not 
shown in the variety of matters it exerts itself on, but 
in the goodness of the choice she makes. 

" She does not display it so much in saying or doing 



CHAP. XI.] Mrs. Huichinson^s, of her Husband. ■ 823 

striking things, as in avoiding such as she ought not to 
say or do. 

"No person of so few years can know the world 
better ; no person was ever less corrupted by the knowl- 
edge of it. 

"Her politeness flows rather from a natural disposi- 
tion to oblige, than from any rules on that subject, and 
therefore never fails to strike those who understand 
good-breeding and those. who do not. 

" She has a steady and firm mind, which takes no 
more from the solidity of the female character than the 
solidity of marble does from its polish and lustre. She 
has such virtues as make us value the truly great of our 
own sex. She has all the winning graces that make us 
love even the faults we see in the weak and beautiful, 
in hers." 

Let us give, as a companion picture, the not less beau- 
tiful delineation of a husband — that of Colonel Hutch- 
inson, the Commonwealth man, by his widow. Short- 
ly before his death, he enjoined her " not to grieve at the 
common rate of desolate women." And, faithful to his 
injunction, instead of lamenting his loss, she indulged 
her noble sorrow in depicting her husband as he had 
lived. 

" They who dote on mortal excellences," she says, in 
her Introduction to the " Life," " when, by the inevita- 
ble fate of all things frail, their adored idols are taken 
from them, may let loose the winds of passion to bring 
in a flood of sorrow, whose ebbing tides carry away the 
dear memory of what they have lost; and when com- 
fort is essayed to such mourners, commonly all objects 
are removed out of their view which may with their re- 
membrance renew the grief; and in time these reme- 
dies succeed, and oblivion's curtain is by degrees drawn 
over the dead face ; and things less lovely are liked, 
while they are not viewed together with that which was 



324 Portrait of Colonel HuicJwison. [chap, xl 

most excellent. But I, that am under a command not 
to grieve at the common rate of desolate women,* while 
I am studying w^hich way to moderate my woe, and, if 
it were possible, to augment my love, I can for the pres- 
ent find out none more just to your dear father, nor con- 
solatory to myself, than the preservation of his memory, 
which I need not gild with such flattering commenda- 
tions as hired preachers do equally give to the truly 
and titularly honorable. A naked, undressed narrative, 
speaking the simple truth of him, will deck him with 
more substantial glory than all the panegyrics the best 
pens could ever consecrate to the virtues of the best 
men." 

The following is the wife's portrait of Colonel Hutch- 
inson as a husband : 

"For conjugal affection to his wife, it was such in 
him as whosoever w^ould draw out a rule of honor, 
kindness, and religion, to be practised in that estate, 
need no more but exactly draw out his examj^le. l^ever 
man had a greater passion for a w^oman, nor a more 
honorable esteem of a wife ; yet he was not uxorious, 
nor remitted he that just rule which it was her honor 
to obey, but managed the reins of government with 
such prudence and affection that she who could not de- 
light in such an honorable and advantageable subjec- 
tion must have wanted a reasonable soul. 

* Colonel Hutchinson was an uncompromising republican, thorough- 
ly brave, high-minded, and pious. At the Eestoration, he was dis- 
charged from Parliament, and from all offices of state forever. He 
retired to his estate at Owthorp, near Nottingliam, but was shortly af- 
ter arrested and imprisoned in the Tower. From thence he was re- 
moved to Sandown Castle, near Deal, where he lay for eleven months, 
and died on September 11th, 1664. The wife petitioned for leave to 
share his prison, but was refused. When he felt himself dying, know- 
ing the deep sorrow Avhich his death would occasion to his wife, he 
left this message, which was conveyed to her : ' ' Let her, as she is 
above other women, show herself on this occasion a good Christian, 
and above the pitch of ordinary women." Hence the wife's allusion 
to her husband's "command" in the above passage. 



CHAP. XI.] Lady Rachel Russell. 325 

"He governed by persuasion, which he never em- 
l^loyed but to things honorable and profitable to her- 
self; he loved her soul and her honor more than her 
outside, and yet he had ever for her person a constant 
indulgence, exceeding the common temporary passion 
of the most uxorious fools. If he esteemed her at a 
higher rate than she in herself could have deserved, he 
was the author of that virtue he doted on, while she 
only reflected his own glories upon him. All that she 
was, was Jiiin, while he w^as here, and all that she is 
now, at best, is but his pale shade. 

"So liberal was he to her, and of so generous a 
temper, that he hated the mention of severed purses, 
his estate being so much at her disposal that he never 
would receive an account of any thing she expended. 
So constant was he in his love, that when she ceased to 
be young and lovely he began to show most fondness. 
He loved her at such a kind and generous rate as words 
can not express. Yet even this, which was the highest 
love he or any man could have, was bounded by a su- 
jDerior : he loved her in the Lord as his fellow-creature, 
not his idol ; but in such a manner as showed that ar» 
affection founded on the just rules of duty far exceeds, 
every -way, all the irregular passions in the w^orld. He 
loved God above her, and all the other dear pledges of 
his heart, and for his glory cheerfully resigned them."* 

Lady Rachel Russell is another of the women of his- 
tory celebrated for her devotion and faithfulness as a 
wife. She labored and pleaded for her husband's re- 
lease so long as she could do* so with honor ; but when 
she saw that all was in vain, she collected her courage, 
and strove by her example to strengthen the resolution 
of her dear lord. And when his last hour had nearly 
come, and his wife and children waited to receive his 

* Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson to her children concerning their father : 
" Memoirs of the Life of Col. Hutchinson " (Bohn's ed.), pp. 29, 30. 



326 Moral Influence of a Wife. [chap. xi. 

parting embrace, she, brave to the end, that she might 
not add to his distress, concealed the agony of her grief 
under a seeming composure ; and they parted, after a 
tender adieu, in silence. After she had gone, Lord Wil- 
liam said, " Now the bitterness of death is passed !"* 

We have spoken of the influence of a wife upon a 
man's character. There are few men strong enough to 
resist the influence of a lower character in a wife. If 
she do not sustain and elevate what is highest in his 
nature, she will speedily reduce him to her own level. 
Thus a wife may be the making or the unmaking of the 
best of men. An illustration of this power is furnished 
in the life of Bunyan. The jDrofligate tinker had the 
good-fortune to marry, in early life, a worthy young 
woman, of good parentage. "My mercy," he himself 
says, "was to light upon a wife whose father and moth- 
er were accounted godly. This woman and I, though 
we came together as poor as poor might be (not having 
so much household stuff as a dish or a spoon betwixt 
us both), yet she had for her part ' The Plain Man's 
Pathway to Heaven' and *The Practice of Piety,' which 
^er father had left her when he died." And by read- 
ing these and other good books, helped by the kindly 
influence of his wife, Bunyan was gradually reclaimed 
from his evil ways, and led gently into the paths of 
peace. 

* On the Declaration of American IndeiDendence, the first John 
Adams, afterwards President of the United States, bought a copy of 
the ' ' Life and Letters of Lady Russell, " and presented it to his wife, 
"with an express intent and desire" (as stated by himself) "that 
she should consider it a mirror in which to contemplate herself; for, 
at that time, I thought it extremely probable, from the daring and dan- 
gerous career I was determined to run, that she would one day find 
herself in the situation of Lady Eussell, her husband without a head," 
Speaking of his wife in connection with the fact, Mr. Adams added : 
"Like Lady Russell, she never, byword or look, discouraged me from 
running all hazards for the salvation of my countiy's liberties. Slie 
■was willing to share with me, and that her children should share with 
us both, in all the dangerous consequences we had to hazard. " 



CHAP. XI.] Baxterh Trials and Troitbles. 327 

Richard Baxter, the Non-conforraist divine, was far 
advanced in life before he met the excellent woman 
who eventually became his wife. He was too labori- 
ously occupied in his vocation of minister to have any 
time to spare for courtship ; and his marriage was, as 
in the case of Calvin, as much, a matter of convenience 
as of love. Miss Charlton, the lady of his choice, was 
the owner of property in her own right; but lest it 
should be thought that Baxter married her for " covet- 
ousness," he requested, first, that she should give over 
to her relatives the principal part of her fortune, and 
that " he should have nothing tliat before her marriage 
was hers ;" secondly, that she should so arrange her af- 
fairs " as that he might be entangled in no lawsuits ;" 
and, thirdly, " that she should expect none of the time 
that his ministerial work might require." These sever- 
al conditions the bride having complied with, the mar- 
riage took place, and proved a happy one. "We lived," 
said Baxter, " in inviolated love and mutual complacen- 
cy, sensible of the benefit of mutual help, nearly nine- 
teen years." Yet the life of Baxter was one of great 
trials and troubles, arising from the unsettled state of 
the times in which he lived. He was hunted about 
from one part of the countrj^ to another, and for several 
years he had no settled dwelling-^Dlace. " The Vv^omen," 
he gently remarks in his " Life," " have most of that 
sort of trouble, but my wife easily bore it all." In the 
sixth year of his marriage Baxter was brought before 
the magistrates at Brentford for holding a conventicle 
at Acton, and was sentenced by them to be imprisoned 
in Clerkenwell Jail. There he was joined by his wife, 
who affectionately nursed him during his confinement. 
" She was never so cheerful a companion to me," he 
says, "as in prison, and was very much against me 
seeking to be released." At length he was set at lib- 
erty by the judges of the Court of Common Pleas, to 



828 Count Zinzendorf and Dr. Livingstone, [chap. xi. 

whom he had appealed against the sentence of the 
magistrates. At the death of Mrs, Baxter, after a very 
troubled yet happy and cheerful life, her husband left 
a touching portrait of the graces, virtues, and Christian 
character of this excellent woman — one of the most 
charming things to be found in his works. 

The noble Count Zinzendorf was united to an equal- 
ly noble woman, who bore him up through life by her 
great spirit, and sustained him in all his labors by her 
unfailing courage. " Twenty-four years' experience has 
shown me," he said, "that just the helpmate whom I 
have IS the only one that could suit my vocation. Who 
else could have so carried through my family affairs ? — 
who lived so spotlessly before the world? Who so 
wisely aided me in my rejection of a dry morality? . . . 
Who would, like she, without a murmur, have seen her 
husband encounter such dangers by land and sea? — 
who undertaken with him, and sustained, such astonish- 
ing pilgrimages ? Who, amidst such difficulties, could 
have held up her head and- sujDported me ? . . . And 
finally, who, of all human beings, could so well under- 
stand and interpret to others my inner and outer being 
as this one, of such nobleness in her way of thinking, 
such great intellectual capacity, and free from the the- 
ological perplexities that so often enveloped me ?" 

One of the brave Dr. Livingstone's greatest trials 
during his travels in South Africa was the death of his 
affectionate wife, who had shared his dangers, and ac- 
companied him in so many of his wanderings. In com- 
municating the intelligence of her decease at Shupanga, 
on the River Zambesi, to his friend Sir Roderick Mur- 
chison, Dr. Livingstone said : " I must confess that this 
heavy stroke quite takes the heart out of me. Every 
thing else that has happened only made me more de- 
termined to overcome all difficulties ; but after this sad 
stroke I feel crushed and void of strength. Only three. 



CHAP. XL] Sir Samuel Romilhj. • 329 

short months of her society, after four years' separation ! 
I married her for love, and the longer I lived with her 
I loved her the more. A good wife, and a good, brave, 
kind-hearted mother was she, deserving all the praises 
you bestowed upon her at our parting dinner, for teach- 
ing her own and the native children, too, at Kolobeng. 
I try to bow^ to the blow as from our Heavenly Father, 
who orders all things for us. . . . I shall do my duty 
still, but it is with a darkened horizon that I again set 
about it." 

Sir Samuel Romilly left behind him, in his Autobiog- 
raphy, a touching picture of his wife, to whom he at- 
tributed no small measure of the success and happiness 
that accompanied him through life. " For the last fif- 
teen years," he said, "my happiness has been the con- 
stant study of the most excellent of wives — a woman 
in whom a strong understanding, the noblest and most 
elevated sentiments, and the most courageous virtue, 
are united to the warmest affection and to the utmost 
delicacy of mind and heart; and all these intellectual 
perfections are graced by the most splendid beauty that 
human eyes ever beheld."* Romilly's affection and ad- 
miration for this noble woman endured to the end ; and 
when she died the shock proved greater than his sensi- 
tive nature could bear. Sleep left his eyelids, his mind 
became unhinged, and three days after her death the 
sad event occurred which brought his own valued life 
to a close.f 

Sir Francis Burdett, to whom Romilly had been often 
politically opposed, fell into such a state of profound 
melancholy on the death of his wife that he persistent- 

* " ]Nremoirs of the Life of Sir Samuel Romilly," vol. i., p. 41. 

t It is a singular circumstance that in the parish church of St. 
Bride, Fleet Street, there is a tablet on the wall with an inscription to 
the memoiy of Isaac Romilly, F.R.S., who died in 1759, of a broken 
heart, seven days after the decease of a beloved wife. — Cha3ibers's 
Booh of Days, vol. ii., p. 539. 



330 Sir Thomas Graham. [CHAP. xi. 

]y refused nourisliment of any kind, and died before 
the removal of her remains from the house; and hus- 
band and wife Avere laid side by side in the same 
grave. 

It was grief for the loss of his wife that sent Sir 
Thomas Graham into the army at the age of forty-three. 
Every one knows the picture of the newly-wedded pair 
by Gainsborough — one of the most exquisite of that 
painter's works. They lived happily together for eight- 
een years, and then she died, leaving him inconsolable. 
To forget his sorrow-^and, as some thought, to get rid 
of the weariness of his life without her — Graham joined 
Lord Hood as a volunteer, and distinguished himself by 
the recklessness of his bravery at the siege of Toulon. 
He served all through the Peninsular War, first under 
Sir John Moore, and afterwards under Wellington ; ris- 
ing through the various grades of the service until he 
rose to be second in command. He was commonly 
known as the " hero of Barossa," because of his famous 
victory at that place ; and he was eventually raised to 
the peerage as Lord Lynedoch, ending his days i^eace- 
fuUy at a very advanced age. But to the last he tender- 
ly cherished the memory of his dead wife, to the love 
of whom he may be said to have owed all his glory. 
" N'ever," said Sheridan of him, when pronouncing his 
eulogy in the House of Commons — "never was there 
seated a loftier spirit in a braver heart." 

And so have noble wives cherished the memory of 
their husbands. There is a celebrated monument in 
Vienna, erected to the memory of one of the best gener- 
als of the Austrian army, on which there is an inscrip- 
tion, setting forth his great services during the Seven 
Years' War, concluding with the words, "jVo7i patria, 
nee Imperator^ sed con§ux posuity When Sir Albert 
Morton died, his wife's grief was such that she shortly 
followed him, and was laid by his side. Wotton's two 



CHAP. XI.] Wives of Scientific Men. 331 

lines on the event have been celebrated as containiDsr a 
volume in seventeen words : 

" He first deceased ; she for a little tried 
To live without him, Uked it not, and died. " 

So, when Washington's wife was informed that her 
dear lord had suffered his last agony — had drawn his 
last breath, and departed — she said : " 'Tis well ; all is 
now over. I shall soon follow him ; I have no more 
trials to pass through." 

Not only have women been the best companions, 
friends, and consolers, but they have in many cases been 
the most effective helpers of their husbands in their 
special lines of work. Galvani was especially happy in 
his wife. She was the daughter of Professor Galeazzi ; 
and it is said to have been through her quick observa- 
tion of the circumstance of the leg of a frog, placed near 
an electrical machine, becoming convulsed when touched 
by a«knife, that her husband was first led to investigate 
the science which has since become identified with his 
name. Lavoisier's wife also was a woman of real scien- 
tific ability, who not only shared in her husband's pur- 
suits, but even undertook the task of engraving the 
plates that accompanied his " Elements." 

The late Dr. Buckland had another true helper in 
his wife, who assisted him with her pen, prepared and 
mended his fossils, and furnished many of the drawings 
and illustrations of his published works. "Xotwith- 
standing her devotion to her husband's pursuits," says 
her son, Frank Buckland, in the preface to one of his fa- 
ther's works,* "she did not neglect the education of her 

* Mr. Frank Buckland says: "During the long period that Dr. 
Buckland was engaged in writing the book which I now have the 
honor of editing, my mother sat up night after night, for weeks and 
months consecutively, Avi-iting to ray father's dictation ; and this often 
till the sun's rays, shining through the shutters at early mom, warned 
the husband to cease from thinking, and the wife to rest her weary 



332 Huberts Wife as a Helper. [CHAP. XI. 

cMldreD, but occupied her mornings in superintending 
their instruction in sound and useful knowledge. The 
sterling value of her labors they now in after-life fully 
appreciate, and feel most thankful that they were blessed 
with so good a mother." 

A still more remarkable instance of helpfulness in a 
wife is presented in the case of Huber, the Geneva natu- 
ralist. Huber was blind from his seventeenth year, and 
yet he found means to study and master a branch of 
natural history demanding the closest observation and 
the keenest eyesight. It was through the eyes of his 
wife that his mind worked as if they had been his own. 
She encouraged her husband's studies as a means of al- 
leviating his privation, which at length he came to for- 
get; and his life was as prolonged and happy as is usual 
w^ith most naturalists. He even went so far as to de- 
clare that he should be miserable were he to regain his 
eyesight. " I should not know," he said, " to what extent 
a person in my situation could be beloved ; besides, to 
me my wife is always young, fresh, and pretty, which is 
no light matter." Huber's great work on " Bees " is still 
regarded as a masterpiece, embodying a vast amount of 
original observation on their habits and natural history. 
Indeed, while reading his descriptions, one would sup- 
pose that they were the work of a singularly keen-sight- 
ed man, rather than of one who had been entirely blind 
for twenty-five years at the time at which he wrote 
them. 

Not less touching was the devotion of Lady Hamil- 

hand. Not only Avith her pen did she render material assistance, but 
liei- natural talent in the use of her pencil enabled her to give accurate 
illustrations and finished drawings, many of which are perpetuated in 
Dr. Bucldand's works. She was also particuliirly clever and neat in 
mending broken fossils ; and there are many specimens in the Oxford 
Museum, now exhibiting their natural forms and beaut}', which were 
restored by her perseverance to shape from a mass of broken and al- 
most comminuted fragments." 



CHAP. XL ] Sir William and Lady Hamilton. 833 

ton to the service of her husband, the late Sir William 
Hamilton, Professor of Logic and Metaphysics in the 
University of Edinburgh. After he had been stricken 
by paralysis through overwork at the age of fifty-six, 
she became hands, eyes, mind, and every thing to him. 
She identified herself with his work, read and consulted 
books for him, copied out and corrected his lectures, 
and relieved him of all business which she felt herself 
competent to undertake. Indeed, her conduct as a wife 
■was nothing short of heroic ; and it is probable that but 
for her devoted and more than wifely help, and her rare 
l^ractical ability, the greatest of her husband's works 
would never have seen the light. He was by nature 
unmethodical and disorderly, and she supplied him with 
method and orderliness. His temperament was studi- 
ous but indolent, while she was active and energetic. 
She abounded in the qualities which he most lacked. 
He had the genius, to which her vigorous nature gave 
the force and impulse. 

When Sir WilUam Hamilton was elected to his pro- 
fessorship, after a severe and even bitter contest, his op- 
ponents, professing to regard him as a visionary, pre- 
dicted that he could never teach a class of students, and 
that his appointment would prove a total failure. He 
determined, with the help of his wife, to justify the 
choice of his supporters, and to prove that his enemies 
were false prophets. Having no stock of lectures on 
hand, each lecture of the first course was written out 
day by day, as it was to be delivered on the following 
morning. His wife sat up with him night after night, 
to write out a fair copy of the lectures from the rough 
sheets, which he drafted in th? adjoining room. " On 
some occasions," says his biographer, " the subject of 
the lectures would prove less easily managed than on 
others ; and then Sir William would be found writing 
as late as nine o'clock in the morning, while his faith- 



834 Woman as a Fellow -Worker. [chap. XI. 

ful but wearied amanuensis had fallen asleep on a 
sofa.'"^ 

Sometimes the finishing touches to the lecture were 
left to be given just before. the class-hour. Thus help- 
ed. Sir William completed his course ; his reputation as 
a lecturer was established; and he eventually became 
recognized throughout Europe as one of the leading in- 
tellects of his time.f 

The woman who soothes anxiety by her presence, 
who charms and allays irritability by her sweetness of 
temper, is a consoler as well as a true helper. Niebuhr 

* Veitch's "Memoirs of Sir William Hamilton," 

t The following extract from Mr. Veitcli's biography will give one 
nn idea of the extraordinary labors of Lady Hamilton, to whose mi- 
failing devotion to the service of her husband the world of intellect 
has been so much indebted : " The number of pages in her handwrit- 
ing," says Mr. Veitch — "filled with abstruse metaphysical matter, 
original and quoted, bristling with proportional and syllogistic formu- 
lae — that are still preserved, is perfectly marvellous. Every thing that 
was sent to the press, and all the courses of lectures, were written by 
her, either to dictation or from a copy. This work she did in the 
truest spirit of love and devotion. She had a power, moreover, of 
keeping her husband up to wdiat he had to do. She contended wisely 
against a sort of energetic indolence which characterized him, and 
which, while he was always laboring, made him apt to put aside the 
task actually before him — sometimes diverted by subjects of inquiry 
suggested in the course of study on the matter in hand, sometimes dis- 
couraged by the difficulty of reducing to order the immense mass of 
materials he had accumulated in connection Avith it. Then her reso- 
lution and cheerful disposition sustained and refreshed him, and never 
more so than when, during the last twelve years of his life, his bodily 
strength was broken, and his spirit, though languid, yet ceased not 
from mental toil. The truth is, that Sir William's marriage, his com- 
paratively limited circumstances, and the character of his wife, sup- 
plied to a nature that would have been contented to spend its mighty 
energies in work that brought no reward but in the doing of it, and 
that might never have been made publicly known or available, the 
practical force and impulse which enabled him to accomplish what he 
actually did in literature and ^^lilosopliy. It was this influence, Avith- 
out doubt, which saved him from utter absorption in his world of rare, 
noble, and elevated, but ever-increasingly unattainable ideas. But for 
it, the serene sea of abstract thought might have held him becahned 
for life ; and in the absence of all utterance of definite knowledge of 
his conclusions, the world might have been left to an ignorant and 
mysterious wonder about the unprofitable scholar. "' 



CHAP. XI.] John Stuart Mill — Faraday. 835 

always spoke of his wife as a fellow-worker with him in 
this sense. Without the peace and consolation which 
he found in her society, his nature would have fretted 
in comparative uselessness. " Her sweetness of temper 
and her love," said he, "raise me above the earth, and 
in a manner separate me from this life." But she was 
a helper in another and more direct way. Niebuhr was 
accustomed to discuss with his wife every historical dis- 
covery, every political event, every novelty in literature ; 
and it was mainly for her pleasure and approbation, in 
the first instance, that he labored while preparing him- 
self for the instruction of the world at large. 

The wife of John Stuart Mill was another worthy 
helper of her husband, though in a more abstruse de- 
partment of study, as we learn from his touching ded- 
ication of the treatise "On Liberty:" "To the beloved 
and deplored memory of her who was the inspirer, and 
in part the author, of all that is best in my writings — 
the friend and wife, whose exalfed sense of truth and 
right was my strongest incitement, and whose approba- 
tion was my chief reward, I dedicate this volume." 

Kot less touching is the testimony borne by another 
great living writer to the character of his wife, in the 
inscription upon the tombstone of Mrs. Carlyle, in Had- 
dington Church-yard, where are inscribed these words : 
"In her bright existence she Rad more sorrows than 
are common, but also a soft amiability, a capacity of dis- 
cernment, and a noble loyalty of heart, which are rare. 
For forty years she was the true and loving helpmate of 
her husband, and by act and word unweariedly forward- 
ed him as none else could in all of worthy that he did or 
attempted." 

The married life of Faraday was eminently happy. 
In his wife he found, at the same time, a true helpmate 
and soul-mate. She supported, cheered, and strengthen- 
ed him on his way through life, giving him " the clear 



836 Woman as a Consoler. [chap. xi. 

contentment of a heart at ease." In his diary he speaks 
of his marriage as " a source of honor and happiness far 
exceeding all the rest." After twenty-eight years' ex- 
perience, he spoke of it as " an event which, more than 
any other, had contributed to his earthly happiness and 
healthy state of mind. . . . The union (said he) has in 
nowise changed, except only in the depth and strength 
of its character." And for six-and-forty years did the 
union continue unbroken — the love of the old man re- 
maining as fresh, as earnest, as heart-whole, as in the 
days of his impetuous youth. In this case marriage 
was as 

"A golden chain let down from heaven, 

Whose links are bright and even ; 

That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines 

The soft and sweetest minds 

In equal knots." 

Besides being a helper, woman is emphatically a 
consoler. Her sympathy is unfailing. She soothes, 
cheers, and comforts. ]N"ever was this more true than 
in the case of the wife of Tom Hood, whose tender de- 
votion to him, during a life that was a prolonged ill- 
ness, is one of the most affecting things in biography. 
A woman of excellent good sense, she appreciated her 
husband's genius, and, by encouragement and sympa- 
thy, cheered and heartened him to renewed effort in 
many a weary struggle for life. She created about him 
an atmosphere of hope and cheerfulness, and nowhere 
did the sunshine of her love seem so bright as when 
lighting up the couch of her invalid husband. 

N"or was he unconscious of her worth. In one of his 
letters to her, when absent from his side. Hood said : 
" I never was any thing, dearest, till I knew you ; and 
I have been a better, happier, and more prosperous man 
ever since. Lay by that truth in lavender, sweetest, 
and remind me of it when I fail. I am writing warmly 
and fondh^, but not without good cause. First, your 



CHAP. XI.] Wives as Literary Helpers. 337 

own affectionate letter, lately received; next, the re- 
membrance of our dear children, pledges — what dar- 
ling ones ! — of our old familiar love ; then, a delicious 
impulse to pour out the overflowings of my heart into 
yours ;' and last, not least, the knowledge that your dear 
eyes will read what my hand is now writing. Perhaps 
there is an after-thought that, whatever may befall me, 
the wife of my bosom will have the acknowledgment of 
her tenderness, worth, excellence — all that is wifely or 
womanly — from my pen." In another letter, also writ- 
ten to his wife during a brief absence, there is a natural 
touch, showing his deep affection for her : " I went and 
retraced our walk in the park, and sat down on the 
same seat, and felt happier and better." 

But not only was Mrs. Hood a consoler, she was also 
a helper of her husband in his special work. He had 
such confidence in her judgment, that he read, and re- 
read, and corrected, with her assistance, all that he 
wrote. Many of his pieces were first dedicated to her ; 
and her ready memory often supplied him with the nec- 
essary references and quotations. Thus, in the roll of 
noble wives of men of genius, Mrs. Hood will always 
be entitled to take a foremost place. 

Kot less effective as a literary helper was Lady Na- 
pier, the wife of Sir William Napier, historian of the 
Peninsular War. She encouraged him to undertake 
the work ; and w^ithout her help he would have experi- 
enced great difficulty in completing it. She translated 
and epitomized the immense mass of original docu- 
ments, many of them in cipher, on which it was in a 
great measure founded. When the Duke of Welling- 
ton was told of the art and industry she had displayed 
in deciphering King Joseph's port-folio, and the im- 
mense mass of correspondence taken at Vittoria, he at 
first would hardly believe it, adding — "I would have 
given £20,000 to any person who could have done this 

P 



838 A Galaxy of Noble Wives. [chap. xi. 

for me in the Peninsula." Sir William Napier's hand- 
writing being almost illegible, Lady Napier made out 
his rough interlined manuscript, which he himself could 
scarcely read,- and wrote out a full fair copy for the 
printer; and all this vast labor she undertook amd ac- 
complished, according to the testimony of her husband, 
without having for a moment neglected the care and 
education of a large family. When Sir William lay on 
his death-bed. Lady Napier was at the same time dan- 
gerously ill ; but she was wheeled into his room on a 
sofa, and the two took their silent farewell of each oth- 
er. The husband died first ; in a few weeks the wife 
followed him, and they sleep side by side in the same 
grave. 

Many other similar true-hearted wives rise up in the 
memory, to recite whose praises would more than fill 
up our remaining space — such as Flaxman's wife, Ann 
Denham, who cheered and encouraged her husband 
through life in the prosecution of his art, accompany- 
ing him to Rome, sharing in his labors and anxieties^ 
and finally in his triumphs, and to whom Flaxman, in 
the fortieth year of their married life, dedicated his 
beautiful designs illustrative of Faith, Hope, and Char- 
ity, in token of his deep and undimmed affection ; — such 
as Katherine Boutcher, " dark-eyed Kate," the wife of 
William Blake, who believed her husband to be the 
first genius on earth, worked off the impressions of his 
plates and colored them beautifully with her own hand, 
bore with him in all his erratic ways, sympathized with 
him in his sorrows and joys for forty-five years, and 
comforted him until his dying hour — his last sketch, 
made in his seventy-first year, being a likeness of him- 
self, before making which, seeing his wife crying by his 
side, he said, " Stay, Kate ! just keep as you are; I will 
draw your portrait, for you have ever been an angel to 
me ;" — such, again, as Lady FrankUn, the true and no- 



CHAP. XI.] Devotion of Grotius's Wife. 839 

ble womau, who never rested in her endeavors to pen- 
etrate the secret of the Polar Sea and prosecute the 
search for her long-lost husband — undaunted by failure, 
and persevering in her determination with a devotion 
and singleness of purpose altogether unparalleled; — or 
such, again, as the wife of Zimmermani], whose intense 
melancholy she strove in vain to assuage, sympathizing 
with him, listening to him, and endeavoring to under- 
stand him — and to whom, when on her death-bed, about 
to leave him forever, she addressed the touching words, 
" My poor Zimmermann ! who will now understand 
thee?" 

"Wives have actively helped their husbands in other 
ways. Before Weiusberg surrendered to its besiegers, 
the women of the place asked permission of the captors 
to remove their valuables. The permission was granted, 
and shortly after, the women were seen issuing from the 
gates carrying their husbands on their shoulders. Lord 
Xithsdale owed his escape from prison to the address 
of his wife, who changed garments with him, sending 
him forth in her stead, and herself remaining prisoner 
— an example which was successfully repeated by Ma- 
dame de Lavalette. 

But the most remarkable instance of the release of a 
husband through the devotion of a wife was that of the 
celebrated Grotius. He had lain for nearly twenty 
months iu the strong fortress of Loevestein, near Gor- 
cum, having been condemned by the Government of 
the United Provinces to perpetual imprisonment. His 
wife, having been allowed to share his cell, greatly re- 
lieved his solitude. She was permitted to go into the 
town twice a week and bring her husband books, of 
which he required a large number to enable him to 
prosecute his studies. At length a large chest was re- 
quired to hold them. This the sentries at first exam- 
ined with great strictness, but, finding that it only con- 



340 Heine^s Wife. [CHAP. xi. 

tained books (among others Armiuian books) and lin- 
en, they at length gave up the search, and it was al- 
lowed to pass out and in as a matter of course. This 
led Grotius's wife to conceive the idea of releasing him ; 
and she persuaded him one day to deposit himself in 
the chest instead of the outgoing books. "When the 
two soldiers appointed to remove it took it up, they felt 
it to be considerably heavier than usual, and one of them 
asked, jestingly, "Have we got the Arminian himself 
here ?" to which the ready-witted wife replied, " Yes, 
perhaps some Arminian books." The chest reached 
Gorcum in safety ; the captive was released ; and Gro- 
tius escaped across the frontier into Brabant, and after- 
wards into France, where he was rejoined by his Avife. 

Trial and suffering are the tests of married life. 
They bring out the real character, and often tend to 
produce the closest union. They may even be the 
spring of the purest happiness. Uninterrupted joy, 
like uninterrupted success, is not good for either man 
or woman. When Heine's wife died, he began to re- 
flect upon the loss he had sustained. They had both 
known poverty, and struggled through it hand-in-hand ; 
and it was his greatest sorrow that she was taken from 
him at the moment when fortune was beginning to 
smile upon him, but too late for her to share in his 
prosperity. "Alas!" said he, "among my griefs must 
I reckon even her love — the strongest, truest, that ever 
inspired the heart of woman — which made me the hap- 
piest of mortals, and yet was to me a fountain of a 
thousand distresses, inquietudes, and cares ? To entire 
cheerfulness, perhaps, she never attained ; but for what 
unspeakable sweetness, what exalted enrapturing joys^ 
is not love indebted to sorrow ! Amidst growing anxi- 
eties, with the torture of anguish in my heart, I have 
been made, even by the loss which caused me this an- 
guish and these anxieties, inexpressibly happy ! When 



CHAP. XI.] Fichte^s Courtship. 341 

tears flowed over our cheeks, did not a nameless, sel- 
dom-felt delight stream through my breast, oppressed 
equally by joy and sorrow !" 

There is a degree of sentiment in German love which 
seems strange to English readers — such as we find de- 
picted in the lives of IsTovalis, Jung Stilling, Fichte, 
Jean Paul, and others that might be named. The Ger- 
man betrothal is a ceremony of almost equal importance 
to the marriage itself ; and in that state the sentiments 
are allowed free play, while EngHsh lovers are restrain- 
ed, shy, and as if ashamed of their feelings. Take, for 
instance, the case of Herder, whom his future wife first 
saw in the pulpit. " I heard," she says, " the voice of 
an angel, and soul's words such as I had never heard be- 
fore. In the afternoon I saw him, and stammered out 
my thanks to him ; from this time forth our souls were 
one." They were betrothed long before their means 
would permit them to marry ; but at length they were 
united. " We were married," says Caroline, the wife, 
"by the rose-light of a beautiful evening. We were 
one heart, one soul," Herder was equally ecstatic in 
his language. "I have a wife," he wrote to Jacobi, 
" that is the tree, the consolation, and the happiness of 
my life. Even in flying, transient thoughts (which oft- 
en surprise us), we are one !" 

Take, again, the case of Fichte, in whose history his 
courtship and marriage form a beautiful episode. He 
was a poor German student, living with a family at Zu- 
rich in the capacity of tutor, when he first made the 
acquaintance of Johanna Maria Rahn, a niece of Klop- 
stock. Her position in life was higher than that of 
Fichte ; nevertheless, she regarded him with sincere ad- 
miration. When Fichte was about to leave Zurich, his 
troth plighted to her, she, knowing him to be very poor, 
offered him a gift of money before setting out. He was 
inexpressibly hurt by the offer, and, at first, even doubt- 



342 Fichte and Cobbett. [chap. xi. 

ed whether she could really love him; but, on second 
thoughts, he wrote to her, expressing his deep thanks, 
but, at the same time, the impossibility of his accepting 
such a gift from her. He succeeded in reaching his 
destination, though entirely destitute of means. After 
a long and hard struggle with the world, extending over 
many years, Fichte was at length earning money enough 
to enable him to marry. In one of his charming letters 
to his betrothed he said: "And so, dearest, I solemnly 
devote myself to thee, and thank thee that thou hast 
thought me not unworthy to be thy companion on the 
journey of life. . . . There is no land of happiness 
here below — I know it now — but a land of toil, where 
every joy but strengthens us for greater labor. Hand- 
in-hand we shall traverse it, and encourage and strength- 
en each other, until our spirits — oh, may it be together ! 
— shall rise to the eternal fountain of all peace." 

The married life of Fichte was very happy. His wife 
proved a true and high-minded helpmate. During the 
War of Liberation she was assiduous in her attention 
to the wounded in the hospitals, where she caught a 
malignant fever, which nearly carried her off. Fichte 
himself caught the same disease, and was for a time 
completely prostrated ; but he lived for a few more 
years, and died at the early age of fifty-two, consumed 
by his own fire. 

What a contrast does the courtship and married life 
of the blunt and practical William Cobbett present to 
the gesthetical and sentimental love of these highly re- 
fined Germans ! ISTot less honest, not less true, but, as 
some would think, comparatively coarse and vulgar. 
When he first set eyes upon the girl that was after- 
wards to become his wife, she was" only thirteen years 
old, and he was twenty-one — a sergeant-major in a foot 
regiment stationed at St. John's, in New Brunswick. 
He was passing the door of her father's house one day 



CHAP. XI.] Cohbett and Ms Wife. 843 

in winter, and saw the girl out in the snow, scrubbing a 
washing-tub. He said at once to himself, " That's the 
girl for me." He made her acquaintance, and resolved 
that she should be his wife so soon as he could get dis- 
charged from the army. 

On the eve of the girl's return to Woolwich with her 
father, who w^as a sergeant-major in the artillery, Cob- 
bett sent her a hundred and fifty guineas which he had 
saved, in order that she might be able to live without 
hard work until his return to England. The girl de- 
parted, taking wdth her the money ; and five years later 
Cobbett obtained his discharge. On reaching London, 
he made haste to call upon the sergeant-major's daugh- 
ter. " I found," he says, " my little girl a servant-of-all- 
w^ork (and hard work it was), at five pounds a year, in 
the house of a Captain Brisac ; and, without hardly say- 
ing a word about the matter, she put into my hands the 
whole of my hundred and fifty guineas, unbroken." Ad- 
miration of her conduct was now added to love of her 
person, and Cobbett shortly after married the girl, who 
proved an excellent wife. He was, indeed, never tired 
of speaking her praises, and it was his pride to attribute 
to her all the comfort and much of the success of his 
after-life. 

Though Cobbett was regarded by many in his life- 
time as a coarse, hard, practical man, full of prejudices, 
there was yet a strong undercurrent of poetry in his na- 
ture ; and, while he declaimed against sentiment, there 
w^ere few men more thoroughly imbued with sentiment 
of the best kind. He had the tenderest regard for the 
character of woman. He respected her purity and her 
virtue, and in his "Advice to Young Men" he has paint- 
ed the true womanly woman — the helpful, cheerful, affec- 
tionate wdfe — with a vividness and brightness, and, at the 
same time, a force of good sense, that has never been sur- 
passed by any English writer. Cobbett was any thing 



3M ColheWs Views. [chap. xi. 

but refined, in the conventional sense of the word ; but 
he was pure, temperate, self-denying, industrious, vigor- 
ous, and energetic, in an eminent degree. Many of his 
views were, no doubt, wrong, but they were his own, 
for he insisted on thinking for himself in every thing. 
Though few men took a firmer grasp of the real than 
he did, perhaps still fewer were more swayed by the 
ideal. In word-pictures of his own emotions he is un- 
surpassed. Indeed, Cobbett might almost be regarded 
as one of the greatest prose poets of English real life. 




CHAPTER XII. 

THE DISCIPLINE OP EXPERIENCE. 

' ' I would the great would gi'ow like thee, 
Who grewest not alone in power 
And kuoAvledge, but by year and hour ■ 
In reverence and in charity." — Tennyson. 

' ' Not to be unhappy is unhappinesse, 
And misery not t' have known miserie ; 
For the best way unto discretion is 
The way that leades us by adversitie ; 
And men are better shew'd what is amisse, 
By th' expert finger of calamitie, 
Than they can be with all that fortune brings, 
Wlio never shewes them the true face of things." 

Daniel. 
"A lump of woe affliction is, 
Yet thence I borrow lumps of bliss ; 
Though few can see a blessing in 't, 
It is my furnace and my mint." 

Erskine's Gospel Sonnets. 

" Crosses grow anchors, bear as thou shouldst so 
Thy cross, and that cross grows an anchor too." 

Donne. 
"Be the day weary, or be the day long. 
At length it ringeth to Evensong." — Ancient Couplet. 

PRACTICAL wisdom is only to be learned in the 
school of experience. Precepts and instructions 
are useful so far as they go, but, without the discipline 
of real life, they remain of the nature of theory only. 
The hard facts of existence have to be faced, to give 
that touch of truth to character which can never be im- 
parted by reading or tuition, but only by contact with 
the broad instincts of common men and women. 

To be worth any thing, character must be capable of 
standing firm upon its feet in the world of daily work, 
temptation, and trial ; and able to bear the wear-and- 

P2 



346 Evils of Seclusion. [chap. xii. 

tear of actual life. Cloistered virtues do not count for 
much. The life that rejoices in solitude may be only 
rejoicing in selfishness. Seclusion may indicate con- 
tempt for others; though more usually it means indo- 
lence, cowardice, or self-indulgence. To every human 
being belongs his fair share of manful toil and human 
duty ; and it can not be shirked without loss to the indi- 
vidual himself, as well as to the community to which he 
belongs. It is only by mixing in the daily life of the 
world, and taking part in its affairs, that practical knowl- 
edge can be acquired and wisdom learned. It is there 
that we find our chief, sphere of duty, that we learn the 
discipline of work, and that we educate ourselves in that 
patience, diligence, and endurance which shape and con- 
solidate the character. There we encounter the difii- 
culties, trials, and temptations which, according as we 
deal with them, give a color to our entire after-life ; and 
there, too, we become subject to the great discipline of 
suffering, from which we learn far more than from the 
safe seclusion of the study or the cloister. 

Contact with others is also requisite to enable a man 
to know himself. It is only by mixing freely in the 
world that one can form a proper estimate of his own 
capacity. Without such experience, one is apt to be- 
come conceited, puffed up, and arrogant ; at all events, 
he will remain ignorant of himself, though he may here- 
tofore have enjoyed no other company. 

Swift once said : " It is an uncontroverted truth, that 
no man ever made an ill-figure who understood his own 
talents, nor. a good one who mistook them." Many per- 
sons, however, are readier to take measure of the capac- 
ity of others than of themselves. "Bring him to me," 
said a certain Dr. Tronchin, of Geneva, speaking of 
Rousseau — " bring him to me, that I may see whether 
he has got any thing in him !" — the probability being 
that Rousseau, who knew himself better, was much more 



CHAP. XII.] The School of Experience, 347 

likely to take measure of Tronchiu than Tronchiu was 
to take measure of Lira. 

A due amount of self-knowledge is, therefore, neces- 
sary for those who would he any thing or do any thing 
in the world. It is also one of the first essentials to the 
formation of distinct personal convictions. Frederick 
Perthes once said to a young friend, " You know only 
too well what you can do ; but till you have learned 
what you can not do, you will neither accomplish any 
thing of moment nor know inward peace." 

Any one who would profit by experience will never 
be above asking help. He who thinks himself already 
too wise to learn of others, will never succeed in doing 
any thing either good or great. We have to keep our 
minds and hearts open, and never be ashamed to learn, 
with the assistance of those who are wiser and more ex- 
perienced than ourselves. 

The man made wise by experience endeavors to judge 
correctly of the things which come under his observa- 
tion, and form the subject of his daily life. What we 
call common sense is, for the most part, but the result 
of common experience wisely improved, l^ov is great 
ability necessary to acquire it, so much as patience, ac- 
curacy, and watchfulness. Hazlitt thought the most 
sensible people to be met with are intelligent men of 
business and of the world, who argue from what they 
see and know, instead of spinning cobweb distinctions 
of what things ought to be. 

For the same reason, women often display more good 
sense than men, having fewer pretensions, and judging 
of things naturally, by the involuntary impression they 
make on the mind. Their intuitive powers are quicker, 
their perceptions more acute, their sympathies more 
lively, and their manners more adaptive to particular 
ends. Hence their greater tact as displayed in the 
management of others, women of apparently slender in- 



us The School of Life. [CHAP. Xli. 

tellectual powers often contriving to control and regu- 
late the conduct of men of even the most impracticable 
nature. Pope paid a high compliment to the tact and 
good sense of Mary, Queen of William III., when he de- 
scribed her as possessing, not a science, but (what was 
worth all else) prudence. 

The whole of life may be regarded as a great school 
of experience, in which men and women are the pupils. 
As in a school, many of the lessons learned there must 
needs be taken on trust. We may not understand 
them, and may possibly think it hard that we have to 
learn them, especially where the teachers are trials, sor- 
rows, temptations, and difficulties ; and yet we must not 
only accept their lessons, but recognize them as being 
divinely appointed. 

To what extent have the pupils profited by their ex- 
jDerience in the school of life? What advantage have 
they taken of their opportunities for learning? What 
have they gained in discipline of heart and mind? — 
how much in growth of wisdom, courage, self-control? 
Have they preserved their integrity amidst pros^Derity, 
and enjoyed life in temperance and moderation? or, 
has life been with them a mere feast of selfishness, with- 
out care or thought for others ? What have they learn- 
ed from trial and adversity? Have they learned pa- 
tience, submission, and trust in God ? or have they 
learned nothing but impatience, querulousness, and dis- 
content? 

The results of experience are, of course, only to be 
achieved by living; and living is a question of time. 
The man of experience learns to rely upon Time as his 
helper. " Time and I against any two," was a maxim 
of Cardinal Mazarin. Time has been described as a 
beautifier and as a consoler ; but it is also a teacher. It 
is the food of experience, the soil of wisdom. It may 
be the friend or the enemy of youth ; and Time will sit 



CHAP. XII.] Youthful Ardor. c49 

beside the old as a consoler or as a tormentor, according 
as it has been used or misused, and the past life has 
been well or ill spent. 

"Time," says George Herbert, "is the rider that 
breaks youth." To the young, how bright the new 
world looks! — how full of novelty, of enjoyment, of 
pleasure ! But as years pass, w^e find the world to be 
a place of sorrow as well as of joy. As we proceed 
through life, many dark vistas open upon us — of toil, 
suffering, difficulty, perhaps misfortune and failure. 
Happy they who can pass through and amidst such tri- 
als with a firm mind and pure heart, encountering tri- 
als w^ith cheerfulness, and standing erect beneath even 
the heaviest burden ! 

A little youthful ardor is a great help in life, and is 
useful as an energetic motive-power. It is gradually 
cooled down by Time, no matter how glowing it has 
been, while it is trained and subdued by experience. 
But it is a healthy and hopeful indication of character 
— to be encouraged in a right direction, and not to be 
sneered down and repressed. It is a sign of a vigorous, 
unselfish nature, as egotism is of a narrow and selfish 
one ; and to begin life with egotism and self-sufficiency 
is fatal to all breadth and vigor of character. Life, in 
such a case, would be like a year in which there w^as no 
spring. Without a generous, seed-time, there will be 
an unflowering summer and an unproductive harvest. 
And youth is the spring-time of life, in which, if there 
be not a fair share of enthusiasm, little will be attempt- 
ed, and still less done. It also considerably helps the 
working quality, inspiring confidence and hope, and 
carrying one through the dry details of business and 
duty with cheerfulness and joy. 

"It is the due admixture of romance and reality," 
said Sir Henry Lawrence, "that best carries a man 
through life. . . . The quality of romance or enthusi- 



850 Romance and Reality. [chap. xii. 

asm is to be valued as an energy imparted to the hu- 
man mind to prompt and sustain its noblest efforts." 
Sir Henry always urged upon young men, not that they 
should repress enthusiasm, but sedulously cultivate and 
direct the feeling, as one implanted for wise and noble 
purposes. "When the two faculties of romance and 
reality," he said, " are duly blended, reality pursues a 
straight, rough path to a desirable and practicable re- 
sult; while romance beguiles the road by pointing out 
its beauties — by bestowing a deep and practical convic- 
tion that, even in this dark and material existence, there 
may be found a joy with which a stranger intermed- 
dleth not — a light that shineth more and more unto the 
perfect day."* 

It was characteristic of Joseph Lancaster, when a boy 
of only fourteen years of age, after reading " Clarkson 
on the Slave-Trade," to form the resolution of leaving 
his home and going out to the West Indies to teach 
the poor blacks to read the Bible. And he actually set 
out with a Bible and " Pilgrim's Progress " in his bun- 
dle, and only a few shillings in his jjurse. He even 
succeeded in reaching the West Indies, doubtless very 
much at a loss how to set about his proposed work ; 
but in the mean time his distressed parents, having dis- 
covered whither he had gone, had him speedily brought 
back, yet with his enthusiasm unabated; and from that 
time forward he unceasingly devoted himself to the tru- 
ly philanthropic work of educating the destitute poor.f 

* "Calcutta Keview," article on "Eomance and Reality of Indian 
Life." 

t Joseph Lancaster was only twenty years of age when (in 1798) 
he opened his first school in a spare room in his father's house, which 
was soon filled with the destitute children of the neighborhood. The 
room was shortly found too small for the numbers seeking admission, 
and one place after another was hired, until at length Lancaster had 
a special building erected, capable of accommodating a thousand pu- 
pils, outside of Avhich was placed the following notice: "All that 
Avill, may send their children here and have them educated freely ; 



CHAP. XII.] Enthusiasm and Perseverance. 351 

There needs all the force that enthusiasm can give 
to enable a man to succeed in any great enterprise of 
life. Without it, the obstruction and difficulty he has 
to encounter on every side might compel him to suc- 
cumb ; but with courage and perseverance, inspired by 
enthusiasm, a man feels strong enough to face any dan- 
ger, to grapple with any difficulty. What an enthusi- 
asm was that of Columbus, who, believing in the exist- 
ence of a new world, braved the dangers of unknown 
seas ; and when those about him despaired and rose up 
against him, threatening to cast him into the sea, still 
stood firm upon his hope and courage until the great 
new world at length rose upon the horizon ! 

The brave man will not be baffled, but tries and tries 
again until he succeeds. The tree does not fall at the 
first stroke, but only by repeated strokes and after great 
labor. We may see the visible success at which a man 
has arrived, but forget the toil and suffering and peril 
through which it has been achieved. When a friend of 
Marshal Lefevre was complimenting him on his pos- 
sessions and good-fortune, the marshal said: "You 
envy me, do you? Well, you shall have these things 
at a better bargain than 1 had. Come into the court: 
I'll fire at you with a gun twenty times at thirty paces, 
and if I don't kill you, all shall be your own. What ! 
you won't ! 'Very Avell ; recollect, then, that I have 
been shot at more than a thousand times, and much 
nearer, before I arrived at the state in which you now 
find me !" 

The apprenticeship of difficulty is one which the 
greatest of men have had to serve. It is usually the 
best stimulus and discipline of character. It often 
evokes powers of action that, but for it, would have 

and those that do not wish to have education for nothing may pay 
for it, if they please." Thus Joseph Lancaster Avas the precursor of 
our present system of National Education. 



352 The Apprenticeship of Difficulty, [chap. xii. 

remained dormant. As comets are sometimes revealed 
by eclipses, so heroes are brought to light by sudden 
calamity. It seems as if, in certain cases, genius, like 
iron struck by the flint, needed the sharp and sudden 
blow of adversity to bring out the divine sj^ark. There 
are natures which blossom and ripen amidst trials, which 
would only wither and decay in an atmosphere of ease 
and comfort. 

Thus it is good for men to be roused into action and 
stiffened into self-reliance by difficulty, rather than to 
slumber away their lives in useless apathy and indo- 
lence.* It is the struggle that is the condition of vic- 
tory. If there were no difficulties, there would be no 
need of efforts ; if there were no temptations, there 
would be no training in self-control, and but little merit 
in virtue ; if there were no trial and suffering, there 
would be no education in patience and resignation. 
Thus difficulty, adversity, and suffering are not all evil, 
but often the best source of strength, disci^^line, and 
virtue. 

For the same reason, it is often of advantage for a 
man to be under the necessity of having to struggle 
with poverty and conquer it. "He who has battled," 
says Carlyle, " were it only with poverty and hard toil, 
will be found stronger and more expert than he who 
could stay at home from the battle, concealed among 
the provision wagons, or even rest unwatchfully 'abid- 
ing by the stuff.' " 

Scholars have found poverty tolerable compared with 
the privation of intellectual food. Riches weigh much 
more heavily upon the mind. "I can not but choose 

* A great musician once said of a promising but passionless canta- 
triee, "She sings well, but she wants something, and in that some- 
thing every thing. If I were single, I would court her ; I would 
many her ; I would maltreat her ; I would break her heart ; and in 
six months she would be the greatest singer in Europe!" — Black- 
ivood's Magazine. 



CHAP. XII.] Poverty a Stimulus. 853 

say to Poverty," said Richter, " Be welcome ! so that 
thou come not too late in life." Poverty, Horace tells 
us, drove him to poetry, and poetry introduced him to 
Varus and Virgil and Maecenas. " Obstacles," says 
Michelet, " are great incentives. I lived for whole 
years upon a Virgil, and found myself well off. An 
odd volume of Racine, purchased by chance at a stall 
on the quay, created the poet of Toulon." 

The Spaniards are even said to have meanly rejoiced 
in the poverty of Cervantes, but for which they sup- 
posed the production of his great works might have 
been prevented. When the Archbishop of Toledo vis- 
ited the French ambassador at Madrid, the gentlemen 
In the suite of the latter expressed their high admira- 
tion of the writings of the author of "Don Quixote," 
and intimated their desire of becoming acquainted with 
one who had given them so much pleasure. The an- 
swer they received was, that Cervantes had borne arms 
in the service of his country, and was now old and poor. 
"What!" exclaimed one of the Frenchmen, "is not 
Seiior Cervantes in good circumstances? Why is he 
not maintained, then, out of the public treasury ?" 
" Heaven forbid !" w^as the reply, " that liis necessities 
should be ever relieved, if it is those which make him 
write ; since it is his poverty that makes the world 
rich !"* 

It is not prosperity so much as adversity, not wealth 
so much as poverty, that stimulates the perseverance 
of strong and healthy natures, rouses their energy and 
developes their character. Burke said of himself : " I 
was not rocked and swaddled and dandled into a legis- 
lator. ^JSfitor in adversiim ' is the motto for a man like 
you." Some men only require a great difficulty set in 
their way to exhibit the force of their character and 

* Prescott's " Essays," art. Cen-antes. 



85-i The Lessons of Failure. [chap. xii. 

genius ; and that difficulty, once conquered, becomes one 
of the greatest incentives to their farther progress. 

It is a mistake to suppose that men succeed through 
success ; they much of tener succeed through failure. 
By far the best experience ' of men is made up of their 
remembered failures in dealing with others in the af- 
fairs of life. Such failures, in sensible men, incite to 
better self-management, and greater tact and self-con- 
trol, as a means of avoiding them in the future. Ask 
the diplomatist, and he will tell you that lie has learned 
his art through being baffled, defeated, thwarted, and 
circumvented, far more than from having succeeded. 
Precept, study, advice, and example could never have 
taught them so well as failure has done. It has dis- 
ciplined them experimentally, and taught them what to 
do as well as what not to do — which is often still more 
important in diplomacy. 

Many have to make up their minds to encounter fail- 
ure again and again before they succeed; but if they 
have pluck, the failure will only serve to rouse their 
courage, and stimulate them to renewed efforts. Tal- 
ma, the greatest of actors, was hissed off the stage 
when he first appeared on it. Lacordaire, one of the 
greatest preachers of modern times, only acquired celeb- 
rity after repeated faikires. Montalembert said of his 
first public appearance in the Church of St. Roch : "He 
failed completely, and, on coming out, every one said, 
' Though he may be a man of talent, he will never be a 
preacher.' " Again and again he tried, until he succeed- 
ed ; and only two years after his dehut, Lacordaire was 
preaching in IsTotre Dame to audiences such as few 
French orators have addressed since the time of Bossuet 
and Massillon. 

When Mr. Cobden first appeared as a speaker, at a 
public meeting in Manchester, he completely broke 
down, and the chairman apologized for his failure. Sir 



CHAP. .XII.] First Failures of Great Men. 855 

James Graham and Mr. Disraeli failed and were derided 
at first, and only succeeded by dint of great labor and 
application. At one time Sir James Graham had al- 
most given up public speaking in despair. He said to 
his friend Sir Francis Baring : " I have tried it every 
way — extempore, from notes, and committing all to 
memory — and I can't do it. I don't know why it is, 
but I am afraid I shall never succeed." Yet, by dint 
of perseverance, Graham, like Disraeli, lived to become 
one of the most effective and impressive of parliament- 
ary speakers. 

Failures in one direction have sometimes had the ef- 
fect of forcing the far-seeing student to apply himself 
in another. Thus Prideaux's failure as a candidate for 
the post of parish-clerk of Ugboro, in Devon, led to his 
applying himself to learning, and to his eventual eleva- 
tion to the bishopric of Worcester. When Boileau, ed- 
ucated for the bar, pleaded his first cause, he broke 
down amidst shouts of laughter. He next tried the 
pulpit, and failed there too. And then he tried poetry, 
and succeeded. Fontenelle and Yoltaire both failed at 
the bar. So Cowper, through his diffidence and shy- 
ness, broke down when pleading his first cause, though 
he lived to revive the poetic art in England. Montes- 
quieu and Bentham both failed as lav/yers, and forsook 
the bar for more congenial pursuits — the latter leaving 
behind him a treasury of legislative procedure for all 
time. Goldsmith failed in passing as a surgeon ; but he 
wrote the " Deserted Village " and the " Vicar of Wake- 
field ;" while Addison failed as a speaker, but succeed- 
ed in writing " Sir Roger de Coverley," and his many 
famous papers in the " Spectator." 

Even the privation of some important bodily sense, 
such as sight or hearing, has not been sufficient to deter 
courageous men from zealously pursuing the struggle 
of life. Milton, when struck by blindness, " still bore 



856 Struggles of Oenius. [chap. xii. 

up and steered right onward." His greatest works 
were produced during that period of his life in which 
he suffered most — when he was poor, sick, old, blind, 
slandered, and persecuted. 

The lives of some of the greatest men have been a 
continuous struggle with difficulty and apparent defeat. 
Dante produced his greatest work in penury and exile. 
Banished from his native city by the local faction to 
which he was opposed, his house was given up to plun- 
der, and he was sentenced, in his absence, to be burned 
alive. When informed by a friend that he might re- 
turn to Florence, if he would consent to ask for pardon 
and absolution, he repHed : *^ I^o ! This is not the way 
that shall lead me back to my country. I will return 
with hasty steps if you, or any other, can open to me a 
way that shall not derogate from the fame or the honor 
of Dante ; but if by no such way Florence can be en- 
tered, then to Florence I shall never return." His ene- 
mies remaining implacable, Dante, after a banishment 
of twenty years, died in exile. They even pursued him 
after death, when his book, " De Monarchia," was pub- 
licly burned at Bologna, by order of the Papal Legate. 

Camoens also Avrote his great poems mostly in ban- 
ishment. Tired of solitude at Santarem, he joined an 
expedition against the Moors, in which he distinguished 
himself by his bravery. He lost an eye when boarding 
an enemy's ship in a sea-fight. At Goa, in the East 
Indies, he witnessed with indignation the cruelty prac- 
tised by the Portuguese on the natives, and expostu- 
lated with the governor against it. He was in conse- 
quence banished from the settlement, and sent to China. 
In the course of his subsequent adventures and misfor- 
tunes, Camoens suffered shipwreck, escaping only with 
his life and the manuscript of his " Lusiad." Persecu- 
tion and hardship seemed everywhere to pursue him. 
At Macao he was thrown into prison. Escaping from 



CHAP. XII.] Camoens mid Michael Angela. 357 

it, he set sail for Lisbon, where he arrived, after six- 
teen years' absence, poor and friendless. His " Lusiad," 
which was shortly after published, brought him much 
fame, but no money. But for his old Indian slave An- 
tonio, who begged for his master in the streets, Camo- 
ens must have perished.* As it was, he died in a pub- 
lic alms-house, worn out by disease and hardship. An 
inscription was placed over his grave : " Here lies Luis 
de Camoens : he excelled all the poets of his time : he 
lived poor and miserable ; and he died so, mdlxxix." 
This record, disgraceful but truthful, has since been re- 
moved ; and a lying and. pompous epitaph, in honor of 
the great national poet of Portugal, has been substi- 
tuted in its stead. 

Even Michael Augelo was exposed, during the greater 
part of his life, to the persecutions of the envious — vul- 
gar nobles, vulgar priests, and sordid men of every de- 
gree, who could neither sympathize with him nor com- 
prehend his genius. When Paul IV. condemned some 
of his work in "The Last Judgment," the artist ob- 
served that " The Pope would do better to occupy him- 
self with correcting the disorders and indecencies which 
disgrace the world than with any such hypercriticisms 
upon his art." 

Tasso, also, was the victim of almost continual perse- 
cution and calumny. After lying in a mad-house for 
seven years, he became a wanderer over Italy; and 

* A cavalier, named Ruy de Camera, having called upon Camoens 
to furnish a poetical version of the seven penitential psalms, the poet, 
raising his head from his miserable pallet, and pointing to his faithful 
slave, exclaimed : "Alas ! when I was a poet, I was young, and hap- 
py, and blest Avith the love of ladies ; but now I am a forlorn, de- 
serted wretch ! See I there stands my poor Antonio, vainly suppli- 
cating fourpence to purchase a little coal. I have not them to give 
him!" The cavalier, Sousa quaintly relates, in his "Life of Camo- 
ens," closed his heart and his purse, and quitted the room. Such 
were the grandees of Portugal! — Lord SxRAxaroRD's Remarks on 
the Life and Writings of Camoens, 1824. 



858 Revenges of Time. [chap. xii. 

when on liis death-bed, he wrote : " I will not complain 
of the malignity of fortune, because I do not choose to 
speak of the ingratitude of men who have succeeded in 
dragging me to the tomb of a mendicant." 

But Time brings about strange revenges. The per- 
secutors and the persecuted often change places ; it is 
the latter who are great — the former who are infamous. 
Even the names of the persecutors would probably long 
ago have been forgotten, but for their connection with 
the history of the men whom they have persecuted. 
Thus, who would now have known of Duke Alfonso of 
Ferrara, but for his imprisonment of Tasso ? Or, Avho 
would have heard of the existence of the Grand Duke 
of Wurtemburg of some ninety years back, but for his 
petty persecution of Schiller? 

Science also has had its martyrs, who have fought 
their way to light through difficulty, persecution, and 
suffering. We need not refer again to the, cases of 
Bruno, Galileo, and others,* persecuted because of the 
supposed heterodoxy of their views. But there have 
been other unfortunates among men of science, whose 
genius has been unable to save them from the fury of 
their enemies. Thus Bailly, the celebrated French as- 
tronomer (who had been mayor of Paris), and Lavoi- 
sier, the great chemist, were both guillotined in the 
first French Revolution. When the latter, after being 
sentenced to death by the Commune, asked for a few 
days' respite, to enable him to ascertain the result of 
some experiments he had made during his confinement, 
the tribunal refused his appeal, and ordered him for im- 
mediate execution, one of the judges saying that "the 
Republic had no need of philosophers." In England 
also, about the same time. Dr. Priestley, the father of 
modern chemistry, had his house burned over his head, 

* See Chapter v., p. 133, 



CHAP. XII.] Sufferings of Great Men. 359 

and his library destroyed, amidst shoats of " No philos- 
ophers !" and he fled from his native country to lay his 
bones in a foreign land. 

The work of some of the greatest discoverers has 
been done in the midst of persecution, difficulty, and 
suffering. Columbus, who discovered the New World 
and gave it as a heritage to the Old, was in his lifetime 
persecuted, maligned, and plundered by those whom he 
had enriched. Mungo Park's drowning agony in the 
African river he had discovered, but which he was not 
to live to describe; Clapperton's perishing of fever on 
the banks of the great lake, in the heart of the same 
continent, which was afterwards to be rediscovered and 
described by other explorers ; Franklin's perishing in 
the snow — it might be after he had solved the long- 
sought problem of the North-west Passage — are amorg 
the most melancholy events in the history of enterprise 
and genius. 

The case of Flinders the navigator, who suffered a 
six years' imprisonment in the Isle of France, was one 
of peculiar hardship. In 1801, he set sail from England 
in the Investigator, on a voyage of discovery and sur- 
vey, provided with a French pass, requiring all French 
governors (notwithstanding that England and France 
were at war) to give him protection and sciccor in the 
sacred name of science. In the course of his voyage he 
surveyed great part of Australia, Van Diemen's Land, 
and the neighboring islands. The Investigator, being 
found leaky and rotten, was condemned, and the naviga- 
tor embarked as passenger in the Porpoise for England, 
to lay the results of his three years' labors before the 
Admiralty. On the voyage home the Porpoise was 
wrecked, on a reef in the South Seas, and Flinders, with 
part of the crew, in an open boat, made for Port Jack- 
son, which they safely reached, though distant from the 
scene of the wreck not less than YoO miles. There he 



860 Vicissitudes of Flinders. [chap. xii. 

procured a small schooner, the Cumberland^ no larger 
than a Gravesend sailing-boat, and returned for the re- 
mainder of the crew, who had been left on the reef. 
Having rescued them, he set sail for England, making 
for the Isle of France, which the Cumberland reached 
in a sinking condition, being a wretched little craft 
badly found. To his surprise, he was made a prisoner, 
with all his crew, and thrown into prison, where he was 
treated with brutal harshness, his French pass proving 
no protection to him. What aggravated the horrors of 
Flinders's confinement was, that he knew that Baudin, 
the French navigator, whom he had encountered while 
making his survey of the Australian coasts, would reach 
Europe first, and claim the merit of all the discoveries 
he had made. It turned out as he had expected ; and 
while Flinders was still imprisoned in the Isle of France, 
the French Atlas of the new discoveries was published, 
all the points named by Flinders and his precursors be- 
ing named afresh. Flinders was at length liberated, af- 
ter six years' imprisonment, his health completely bro- 
ken ; but he continued correcting his maps, and writing 
out his descriptions to the last. He only lived long 
enough to correct his final sheet for the press, and died 
on the very day that his work was published ! 

Courageous men have often turned enforced solitude 
to account in executing works of great pith and moment. 
It is in solitude that the passion for spiritual perfection 
best nurses itself. The soul communes with itself in 
loneliness until its energy often becomes intense. But 
whether a man profits by solitude or not will mainly de- 
pend upon his own temperament, training, and character. 
While, in a large-natured man, solitude will make the 
pure heart purer, in the small-natured man it will only 
serve to make the hard heart still harder; for though 
solitude may be the nurse of great spirits, it is the tor- 
ment of small ones. 



CHAP. XII.] Prison Workers. 361 

It was in prison that Boetius wrote his " Consolations 
of Philosophy," and Grotiiis his " Commentary on St. 
Matthew," regarded as his master-work in Biblical Crit- 
icism. Buchanan composed his beautiful " Paraphrases 
on the Psalms " while imprisoned in the cell of a Portu- 
guese monastery. Campanella, the Italian patriot monk, 
suspected of treason, was immured for twenty-seven 
years in a Xeapolitan dungeon, during which, deprived 
of the sun's light, he sought higher light, and there cre- 
ated his "Civitas Solis," which has been so 'often re- 
printed and reproduced in translations in most Euro- 
pean languages. During his thirteen years' imprison- 
ment in the Tower, Raleigh wrote his " History of the 
World," a project of vast extent, of which he was only 
able to finish the first five books. Luther occupied his 
prison hours in the Castle of Wartburg in translating 
the Bible, and in writing the famous tracts and treatises 
with which he inundated all Germany. 

It was to the circumstance of John Bunyan having 
been cast into jail that we probably owe the " Pilgrim's 
Progress." He was thus driven in upon himself; hav- 
ing no opportunity for action, his active mind found 
vent in earnest thinking and meditation ; and indeed, 
after his enlargement, his life as an author virtually 
ceased. His " Grace Abounding " and the " Holy War " 
were also written in prison. Bunyan lay in Bedford 
Jail, with a few intervals of precarious liberty, during 
not less than twelve years ;* and it was most probably 
to his prolonged imprisonment that we owe what Ma- 
caulay has characterized as the finest allegory in the 
world. 

* A Quaker called on Bunyan one clay with "a message from the 
Lord," saying he had been to half the jails of England, and was glad 
at last to have found him. To which Bunyan replied: "If the Lord 
sent thee, you would not have needed to take so much trouble to find 
me out, for He knew that I have been in Bedford Jail these seven 
vears past," 

Q 



862 Illustrious Prison Writers. [chap. XII. 

All the political parties of the times in which Bunyan 
lived imprisoned their opponents when they had the op- 
portunity and the power. Bunyan's prison experiences 
were principally in the time of Charles II. But in the 
preceding reign of Charles I., as well as during the 
Commonwealth, illustrious prisoners were very numer- 
ous. The prisoners of the former included Sir John Eli- 
ot, Hampden, Selden, Prynne* (a most voluminous pris- 
on-writer), and many more. It was while under strict 
confinement in the Tower that Eliot composed his noble 
treatise, " The Monarchy of Man." George Wither, the 
poet, was another prisoner of Charles I. ; and it was 
while confined in the Marshalsea that he wrote his fa- 
mous " Satire to the King." At the Restoration he 
was again imprisoned in Newgate, from which he was 
transferred to the Tower, and he is supposed by some 
to have died there. 

The Commonwealth also had its prisoners. Sir Wil- 
liam Davenant, because of his loyalty, was for some 
time confined a prisoner in Cowes Castle, where he 
wrote the greater part of his poem of " Gondibert ;" - 
and it is said that his life was saved principally through 
the generous intercession of Milton. He lived to repay 
the debt, and to save Milton's life when "Charles enjoy- 
ed his own again." Lovelace, the poet and cavalier, was 
also imprisoned by the Roundheads, and was only liber- 
ated from the Gatehouse on giving an enormous bail. 
Though he suffered and lost all for the Stuarts, he was 

* Prynne, besides standing in the pillory and having his ears cut off, 
was imprisoned by turns in the Tower, Mont Orgueil (Jersey), Dun- 
ster Castle, Taunton Castle, and Pendennis Castle. He afterwards 
pleaded zealously for the Eestoration, and was made Keeper of the 
Records by Charles II. It has been computed that Prynne wrote, 
compiled, and printed about eight quarto pages for eveiy working-day 
of his life, from his reaching man's estate to the day of his death. 
Though his books were, for the most part, appropriated by the trunk- 
makers, they now command almost fabulous prices, chiefly because 
of their rarity. 



CHAP. XII.] Illustrious Prison Writers. 863 

forgotten by them at the Restoration, and died in ex- 
treme poverty. 

Besides Wither and Bunyan, Charles II. imprisoned 
Baxter, Harrington (the author of " Oceana "), Penn, 
and many more. All these men solaced their prison 
hours with writing. Baxter wrote some of the most 
remarkable passages of his " Life and Times " while ly- 
ing in the King's Bench Prison ; and Penn wrote his 
"No Cross, no Crown" while imprisoned in the Tower. 
In the reign of Queen Anne, Matthew Prior was in 
confinement, on a vamped-up charge of treason, for two 
years, during which he wrote his "Alma, or Progress of 
the. Soul." 

Since then, political prisoners of eminence in England 
have been comparatively few in number. Among the 
most illustrious were De Foe, who, besides standing 
three times in the pillory, spent much of his time in 
prison, writing " Robinson Crusoe " there, and many of 
his best political pamphlets. There, also, he wrote his 
" Hymn to the Pillory," and corrected for the press a 
collection of his voluminous writings.* Smollett wrote 
his " Sir Lancelot Greaves " in prison, while undergo- 
ing confinement for libel. Of recent prison writers in 
England, the best known are James Montgomery, who 
wrote his first volume of poems while a prisoner in 
York Castle; and Thomas Cooper, the Chartist, who 
wrote his " Purgatory of Suicide " in Stafford Jail. 

Silvio Pellico was one of the latest and most illustri- 
ous of the prison writers of Italy. He lay confined in 
Austrian jails for ten years, eight of which he passed in 
the Castle of Spielberg, in Moravia. It was there that he 



* He also projected his "Re-siew" in prison — the first periodical 
of the kind, which pointed the way to the host of " Tattlers," " Guard- 
ians," and " Spectators," which followed it. The "Review " consist- 
ed of 102 numbers, forming nine quarto volumes, all of which were 
written by De Foe himself while engaged in other and various labors. 



SQ'i Prison Literature. [chap. xii. 

composed his charming "Memoirs," the only materials 
for which were furnished by his fresh, living habit of 
observation; and out of even the transient visits of his 
jailer's daughter, and the colorless events of his monot- 
onous daily life, he contrived to make for himself a little 
world of thought and healthy human interest. 

Kazinsky, the great reviver of Hungarian literature, 
spent seven years of his life in the dungeons of Buda, 
Brunne, Kuf stein, and Munkacs, during which he wrote 
a "Diary of his Imprisonment," and, among other things, 
translated Sterne's " Sentimental Journey ;" while Kos- 
suth beguiled his two years' imprisonment at Buda in 
studying English, so as to be able to read Shakspeare 
in the original. 

Men who, like these, suffer the penalty of law", and 
seem to fall, at least for a time, do not really fail. Many, 
Avho have seemed to fail utterly, have often exercised a 
more potent and enduring influence upon their race 
than those whose career has been a course of uninter- 
rupted success. The character of a man does not de- 
pend on whether his efforts are immediately followed 
by failure or by success. The martyr is not a failure if 
the truth for which he suffered acquires a fresh lustre 
through his sacrifice.* The patriot who lays down his 
life for his cause may thereby hasten its triumph ; and 
those who seem to throw their lives away in the van of 
a great movement often open a way for those who fol- 
low them, and pass over their dead bodies to victory. 
The triumph of a just cause may come late; but when 
it does come, it is due as much to those who failed in 
their first efforts as to those who succeeded in their last. 

* A passage in the Earl of Carlisle's Lecture on Pope — "Heaven 
was made for those who have failed in this world " — struck me very 
forcibly several years ago when I read it in a newspaper, and became 
a rich vein of thought, in which I often quarried, especially when the 
sentence Avas intei-preted by the Cross, which was f;uhu-e apparent)}'." 
— Life and Letters of Robertson (of Brighton), ii., 94. 



CHAP, XII.] Sacrifice not Loss. 365 

The example of a great death may be an inspiration 
to others, as well as the example of a good life. A great 
act does not perish with the life of him who performs it, 
but liv^es and grows up into like acts in those who sur- 
vive the doer thereof and cherish his memory. Of some 
great men, it might almost be said that they have not 
begun to live until they have died. 

The names of the men who have suffered in the cause 
of religion, of science, and of truth, are the men, of all 
others, whose memories are held in the greatest esteem 
and reverence by mankind. They perished, but their 
truth survived. They seemed to fail, and yet they 
eventually succeeded.* Prisons may have held them, 
but their thoughts were not to be confined by prison- 
walls. They have burst through, and defied the power 
of their persecutors. It was Lovelace, a prisoner, who 
wrote : 

"Stone walls do not a prison make, 
Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 
, That for a hermitage. " 

It was a saying of Milton that, " who best can suffer 
best can do." The work of many of the greatest men, 
inspired by duty, has been done amidst suffering and trial 

* "Not all who seem to fail have failed indeed; 

Not all who fail have therefore worked in vain : 
For all our acts to many issues lead ; 
And out of earnest purpose, pui-e and plain. 
Enforced by honest toil of hand or brain. 
The Lord Mill fashion, in His own good time 
(Be this the laborer's proudly humble creed), 
Such ends as, to His wisdom, fitliest chime 
AVith His vast love's eternal harmonies, 
yhere is no failure for the good and wise : 
What though thy seed should fall by the wayside 
And the birds snatch it ; — yet the birds are fed ; 
Or they may bear it far across the tide. 
To give rich han'ests after thou art dead." 

Politics for the People, 1848. 



366 Adversity a Touch- Stone. [CHAP. xil. 

and difficulty. They have struggled against the tide, and 
reached the shore exhausted, only to grasp the sand and 
expire. They have done their duty, and beer content 
to die. But death hath no power over such men ; their 
hallowed memories still survive, to soothe and purify 
and bless us. "Life," said Goethe, "to us all is suffer- 
ing. Who save God alone shall call us to our reckon- 
ing ? Let not reproaches fall on the departed. Not what 
they have failed in, nor what they have suffered, but 
what they have done, ought to occupy the survivors." 

Thus, it is not ease and facility that tiies men and 
brings out the good that is in them, so much as trial and 
difficulty. Adversity is the touch-stone of character. 
As some herbs need to be crushed to give forth their 
sweetest odor, so some natures need to be tried by suf- 
fering to evoke the excellence that is in them. Hence 
trials often unmask virtues, and bring to light hidden 
graces. Men apparently useless and purposeless, when 
placed in positions of difficulty and responsibility, have 
exhibited powers of character before unsuspected ; and 
where we before saw only pliancy and self-indulgence, 
we now see strength, valor, and §elf-denial. 

As there are no blessings which may not be pervert- 
ed into evils, so there are no trials which may not be 
converted into blessings. All depends on the manner 
in which we profit by them or otherwise. Perfect hap- 
piness is not to be looked for in this world. If it could 
be secured, it would be found profitless. The hollowest 
of all gospels is the gospel of ease and comfort. Dif- 
ficulty, and even failure, are far better teachers. Sir 
Humphry Davy said : " Even in private life, too much 
prosperity either ^injures the moral man, and occasions 
conduct which ends in suffering, or it is accompanied 
by the workings of envy, calumny, and malevolence of 
others." 

Failure improves tempers and strengthens the nature. 



CHAP, xil] Suffering. 367 

Even sorrow is in some mysterious way linked with joy 
and associated with tenderness. John Bunyan once 
said how, " if it were lawful, he could even pray for 
greater trouble, for the greater comfort's sake." When 
surprise was expressed at the patience of a poor Ara- 
bian woman under heavy affliction, she said, " When we 
look on God's face we do not feel His hand." 

Suffering is doubtless as divinely appointed as joy, 
while it is much more influential as a discipline of char- 
acter. It chastens and sweetens the nature, teaches pa- 
tience and resignation, and promotes the deepest as well 
as the most exalted thought."^ 

" The best of men 
That e'er wore earth about Him was a sufferer ; 
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit ; 
The first true gentleman that ever breathed, "f 

Suffering may be the appointed means by which the 
highest nature of man is to be discijjlined and develop- 
ed. Assuming happiness to be the end of being, sor- 
row may be the indispensable condition through which 
it is to be reached. Hence St. Paul's noble paradox 
descriptive of the Christian life — "As chastened, and 
not killed; as sorro^vf ul, yet always rejoicing; as poor, 
yet making many rich ; as having nothing, and yet pos- 
sessing all things." 

Even pain is not all painful. On one side it is related 

* "What is it," says Mr. Helps, " that promotes the most and the 
deepest thought in the human race? It is not learning ; it is not the 
conduct of business ; it is not even the impulse of the affections. It 
is suifering ; and that, perhaps, is the reason Avhy there is so much 
suffering in the Avorld. The angel who went down to trouble the wa- 
ters and to make them healing, was not, perhaps, intrusted with so 
great a boon as the angel who benevolently inflicted upon the sufferers 
the disease from which they suffered." — Brevia. 

f These lines were written by Deckar, in a spirit of boldness equal 
to its piety, Hazlitt has said of them, that they "ought to embalm 
his memoiy to every one who has a sense either of religion, or phi- 
losophy, or humanity, or true genius." 



868 The Discipline of Suffering, [chap. xii. 

to suffering, and on the other to happiness. For pain is 
remedial as well as sorrowful. Suffering is a misfortune 
as viewed from the one side, and a discipline as viewed 
from the other. But for suffering, the best part of 
many men's nature would sleep a deep sleep. Indeed, 
it might almost be said that pain and sorrow were the 
indispensable conditions of some men's success, and the 
necessary means to evoke the highest development of 
their genius. Shelley has said of poets : 

"Most wretched men are cradled into poetry by wrong, 
They learn in suffering what they teach in song. " 

Does any one suppose that Burns would have sung as 
he did had he been rich, respectable, and " kept a -gig ,•" 
or Byron, if he had been a prosperous, happily-married 
Lord Privy Seal or Postmaster-general ? 

Sometimes a lieart-break rouses an impassive nature 
to life. " What does he know," said a sage, " who has 
not suffered?" When Dumas asked Reboul, "What 
made you a poet?" his answer was, "' Suffering !" It 
was the death, first of his wife, and then of his child, 
that drove him into solitude for the indulgence of his 
grief, and eventually led him to seek and find relief in 
verse.* It was also to a domestic afiliction that we owe 
the beautiful writings of Mrs. Gaskell. "It was as a 
recreation, in the highest sense of the word," says a re- 
cent writer, speaking from personal knowledge, "as an 
escape from the great void of a life from which a cher- 
ished presence had been taken, that she began that se- 
ries of exquisite creations which has served to multiply 
the number of our acquaintances and to enlarge even 
the circle of our friendships."! 

* Reboul, originally a baker of Nismes, was the author of many beau- 
tiful poems — among others, of the exquisite piece known in this coun- 
try by its English translation, entitled "The Angel and the Child." 

t "Cornhill Magazine," vol. xvi., p. 322. 



CHAP. XII.] Suffering and Worh. 369 

Much of the best and most useful work done by men 
and women has been done amidst affliction — sometimes 
as a relief from it, sometimes from a sense of duty over- 
powering personal sorrow. " If I had not been so great 
an invalid," said Dr. Darwin to a friend, " I should not 
have done nearly so much work as I have been able to 
accomplish." So Dr. Donne, speaking of his illnesses, 
once said : " The advantage you and my other fnends 
have by my frequent fevers is, that I am so much the 
oftener at the gates of Heaven; and by the solitude 
and close imprisonment they reduce me to, I am so 
much the oftener at my prayers, in which you and my 
other dear friends are not forgotten." 

Schiller produced his greatest tragedies in the midst 
of physical suffering almost amounting to torture. 
Handel was never greater than when, warned by palsy 
of the approach of death, and struggling with distress 
and suffering, he sat down to compose the great works 
which have made his name immortal in music. ]\Iozart 
composed his great operas, and last of all his "Requiem," 
when oppressed by debt, and struggling with a fatal dis- 
ease. Beethoven produced his greatest works amidst 
gloomy sorrow, when oppressed by almost total deaf- 
ness. And poor Schubert, after his short but brilliant 
life, laid it down at the early age of thirty-two; his 
sole property at his death consisting of his manuscripts, 
the clothes he wore, and sixty- three florins in money. 
Some of Lamb's finest writings were produced amidst 
dee^ sorrow ; and Hood's apparent gayety often sprang 
from a suffering heart. As he himself wrote, 

"There's not a string attuned to mirth, 
But has its chord in melancholy. " 

Again, in science, we have the noble instance of the 
suffering WoUaston, even in the last stages of the mor- 
tal disease which afflicted him, devoting his numbered 

Q2 



370 The Resignation of Affliction, [chap. xii. 

hours to putting on record, by dictation, the various 
discoveries and improvements he had made, so that any 
knowledge he had acquired calculated to benefit his fel- 
low-creatures might not be lost. 

Afflictions often prove but blessings in disguise. 
" Fear not the darkness," said the Persian sage ; it 
"conceals perhaps the springs of the waters of life." 
Experience is often bitter, but wholesome ; only by its 
teaching can w^e learn to suffer and be strong. Char- 
acter, in its highest forms, is disciplined by trial, and 
"made perfect through suffering." Even from the 
deepest sorrow the patient and thoughtful mind will 
gather richer wisdom than pleasure ever yielded. 

"The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, 
Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made." 

" Consider," said Jeremy Taylor, " that sad accidents 
and a state of afflictions is a school of virtue. It re- 
duces our spirits to soberness, and our counsels to mod- 
eration ; it corrects levity, and interrupts the confidence 
of sinning. . . . God, who in mercy and wisdom gov- 
erns the world, would never have suffered so many sad- 
nesses, and have sent them, especially, to the most vir- 
tuous and the wisest men, but that He intends they 
should be the seminary of comfort, the nursery of vir- 
tue, the exercise of wisdom, the trial of patience, the 
venturing for a crown, and the gate of glory."* 

And again : " No man is more miserable than he that 
hath no adversity. That man is not tried, w^hether he 
be good or bad ; and'- God never crowns those virtues 
which are only faculties and dispositions; but every 
act of virtue is an ingredient unto reward."f 

Prosperity and success of themselves do not confer 
happiness ; indeed, it not unfrequently happens that the 

* " Holy Living and Dying," ch. ii., sec. 6. 
t Ibid., ch. iii., sec. 6, 



CHAP. XII.] Is Happiness an Illusion f 871 

least successful in life have the greatest share of true 
joy in it. ISTo man could have been more successful 
than Goethe — possessed of splendid health, honor, pow- 
er, and sufficiency of this world's goods — and yet he 
confessed that he had not, in the course of his life, en- 
joyed five weeks of genuine pleasure. So the Caliph 
Abdalrahman, in surveying his successful reign of fifty 
years, found that he had enjoyed only fourteen days of 
pure and genuine happiness.* After this, might it not 
be said that the pursuit of mere happiness is an illu- 
sion ? 

Life, all sunshine without shade, all happiness without 
sorrow, all pleasure without pain, were not life at all — 
at least not human life. Take the lot of the happiest — 
it is a tangled yarn. It is made up of sorrows and 
joys; and the joys are all the sweeter because of the 
sorrows ; bereavements and blessings, one following an- 
other, making us sad and blessed by tui'ns. Even death 
itself makes life more loving; it binds us more closely 
together while here. Dr. Thomas Browne has argued 
that death is one of the necessary conditions of human 
happiness, and he supports his argument with great 
force and eloquence. But when death comes into a 
household, we do not philosophize — we only feel. The 
eyes that are full of tears do not see ; though in course 
of time they come to see more clearly and brightly than 
those that have never known sorrow. 

The wise person gradually learns not to expect too 
much from life. While he^trives for success by worthy 
methods, he will be prepared for failures. He will keep 
his mind open to enjoyment, but submit patiently to 
suffering. Wailings and complainings of life are never 
of any use; only cheerful and continuous working in 
right paths are of real avail. 

* Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," vol. x., p. 40. 



372 The Mystery of Life. [chap. xii. 

ISTor will the wise man expect too much from those 
about him. If he would live at peace with others, he 
will bear and forbear. And even the best have often 
foibles of character which have to be endured, sympa- 
thized with, and perhaps pitied. Who is perfect? 
Who does not suffer from some thorn in the flesh ? 
Who does not stand in need of toleration, of forbear- 
ance, of forgiveness ? What the poori mprisoned Queen 
Caroline Matilda, of Denmark, wrote on her chapel-win- 
dow ought to be the prayer of all — " Oh ! keep me in- 
nocent ! make others great." 

Then, how much does the disposition of every human 
being depend upon their innate constitution and their 
early surroundings ; the comfort or discomfort of the 
homes in which they have been brought up; their in- 
herited characteristics ; and the examples, good or bad, 
to which they have been exposed through life ! Regard 
for such considerations should teach charity and forbear- 
ance to all men. 

At the same time, life will always be to a large ex- 
tent what we ourselves make it. Each mind makes its 
own little world. The cheerful mind makes it pleasant, 
and the discontented mind makes it miserable. " My 
mind to me a kingdom is," applies alike to the peasant 
as to the monarch. The one may be in his heart a king, 
as the other may be a slave. Life is for the most part 
but the mirror of our own individual selves. Our mind 
gives to all situations, to all fortunes, higlj or low, their 
real characters. To the good, the world is good ; to 
the bad, it is bad. If our views of life be elevated — if 
we regard it as a sphere of useful effort, of high living 
and high thinking, of working for others' good as well 
as our own — it will be joyful, hopeful, and blessed. If, 
on the contrary, we regard it merely as affording oppor- 
tunities for self-seeking, pleasure, and aggrandizement, 
it will be full of toil, anxiety, and disappointment. 



CHAP. XII.] Duty the Aim and End of Life. 373 

There is much in Hfe that, while in this state, we can 
never comprehend. There is, indeed, a great deal of 
mystery in life — much that we see " as in a glass dark- 
ly." But though we may not aj^prehend the full mean- 
ing of the discipline of trial through which the best 
have to pass, we must have faith in the completeness of 
the design of w^hich our little individual lives form a 
part. 

We have each to do our- duty in tliat sphere of life in 
which we have been placed. Duty alone is true ; there 
is no true action but in its accomplishment. Duty is 
the end and aim of the highest life ; the truest pleasure 
of all is that derived from the consciousness of its ful- 
fillment. Of all others, it is the one that is most thor- 
oughly satisfying, and the least accompanied by regret 
and disappointment. In the w^ords of George Herbert, 
the consciousness of duty performed "gives us music 
at midnight." 

And when we have done our work on earth — of ne- 
cessity, of labor, of love, or of duty — like the silk-worm 
that spins its little cocoon and dies, we too depart. 
But, short though our stay in life may be, it is the ap- 
pointed sphere in which each has to work out the great 
aim and end of his being to the best of his power ; and 
when that is done, the accidents of the flesh will affect 
but little the immortality we shall at last put on : 

" Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust 
Half that we have 
Unto an honest, faithful grave ; 
Making our pillows either down or dust I" 



INDEX 



Abatjzit, his patieuce, 229. 

Abbot, Dr., on the character of Sack- 
ville, 14. 

Abdalrahman, the Caliph, and happi- 
ness, 371. 

Ability, speculative and practical, 123. 

Accident, greatness sometimes devel- 
oped by, 2S0. 

Adams, President, and Washington, 
29 : his mother, 5S ; and character 
of Lady Rachel Rnssell, 326 (?iote). 

Adansou, French botanist, 230. 

Addison, Secretary of State, 117; on 
the character of authors, 281; on 
temper, 317 ; his failure as a speak- 
er, 355. 

Admiration of the great and good, 32, 
84. SB, 155, 3G5. 

Adversity, uses of, 151, 353, 3G3, 366. 

Affliction, uses of, 364, 370. 

African women and Mungo Park, 306. 

Albert, Prince, and the chief prize at 
Wellington College, 23 ; his admi- 
ration of noble deeds, 88 ; his shy- 
ness, 254. 

Alexander the Great, on pleasure and 
toil, 9S ; on hope, 239. 

Altieri, his admiration of Plutarch, 
276. 

Alfred, King, his patience and good- 
fortime, 238. 

American colonization, 260. 

Ancillon, on disrespect for others, 245. 

Angelo, Michael, and Francis de Me- 
dicis, 81 ; and self-help, 151 ; and 
Vittoria Colonna, 197 ; and his per- 
secutors, 357. 

Anne, Queen, literary men in reign 
of, 117. 

Anquetil (historian), self-denial of, 
170. 

Antisthenes and Diogenes, 150. 

Ariosto, and Leo X., 92 ; his genius 
for business, 119 ; his admiration of 
Vittoria Colonna, 197. 

Aristotle, portrait of the magnani- 
mous man, 155 ; his apocryphal his- 
tory, 289. 

Arnold, Dr., on French history, 38 ; 
on personal example, 89 ; his influ- 
ence, 86 ; on admiration, 88 ; on 
truthfulness, 214 ; his cordiality, 228. 



Arnold, Matthew, 121. 

Art and nationality, 262 ; and histo- 
ry, 265. 

Askew, Anne, martyr, 137. 

Association, influence of good, 77. 

Athens, cause of its decline, 40 ; art in 
its decay, 265. 

Attica, its smallness and greatness, 
39. 

Audley (Court of Wards), on dishon- 
esty in office, 190. 

Augustine, St., his boyhood, 49; on 
force of habit, 50 (note) ; his " Con- 
fessions," 283; his favorite books, 
290. 

Autobiography, 283. 

B. 

Bacon, Loed : his mother, 56 ; a man 
of business, 116 ; on practical wis- 
dom, 117 ; on leisure, 125 ; his " No- 
vum Organon " denounced, 134 ; on 
deformity, 281. 

Bacon, Eoger, his persecution, 133. 

Bailey, Samuel, literary man and 
banker, 122; on speculative and 
practical ability, 123 (note). 

Bailly, French astronomer, guillo- 
tined, 358. 

Bankers, literary, 122. 

Bannockburn, Douglas and Randolph 
at, 153. 

Barry, painter, and Edmund Burke, 
183. 

Barton, Bernard, and Charles Lamb, 
107. 

Baudin and Flinders, the navigators, 
359, 360. 

Baxter, on leaving his books at death, 
299 ; his wife, 327 ; in prison, 363. 

Beaumont, Sir G., admiration of 
Claude, 95. 

Beautiful, worship of the, 264. 

Beauty, marrying for, 316. 

Beethoven, and Handel, etc., 93 ; his 
composition under bodily suffer- 
ings, 369. 

Behnes, sculptor, 248. 

Bell, Sir C, on example, 74; admira- 
tion of. 95 ; his discoveries, 135 ; his 
biography unwritten, 296 {note). 



876 



Index. 



BBntham, Jeremy: description of a 
Liberal, 147; on happy thinking, 
1G9 ; on self-control, 17S ; on happi- 
ness, 232; influence of "Telema- 
chus" on his mind, 297; his fiiilure 
at the bar, 355. 

Beranger, his songs, 184. 

Bernard, St., on self-injury, 22, 

Bible, a series of biographies, 273. 

Bicknell, husband ot Sabrina Sidney, 
114. 

Bigness not greatness, 39. 

Biography, lesson of, 95, 273 ; interest 
of, 271, 285 ; art of, 277, 286 ; unwrit- 
ten, 289. 

Biot, Laplace's generous conduct to, 
155. 

Birkenhead, loss of the, 168, 204. 

Black Prince, the, his courtesy, 152. 

Blake, Wm. (artist), his wife, 338. 

Bluchei', Marshal: his promise to 
Wellington, 211 ; his favorite book, 
294. 

Bluntness of manner, 249, 252. 

Boccaccio, a diplomatist, 118. 

Boetius, his "Consolations of Philos- 
ophy," 361. 

Boileau, his failure at the bar, 355. 

Bolingbroke, on Marlborough's char- 
acter, 91. 

Bonaparte (see Napoleon). 

Boniface, St., and work, 105. 

Books, companionship of, 268; Haz- 
litt on, 269, 300; immortality of, 
270; society of, 270, 298; favorite 
of great men, 276, 291 ; inspirers of 
youth, 296, 298; makers of revolu- 
tions, 300. 

Bossuet, on love of truth, 102 {note) ; 
his industry, 109 ; C. Bossuet, and 
Fontenelle's "Eloges," 295. 

Boswell and Johnson, 88; his "Life 
of Johnson," 287. 

Brain- Avork, 130 • G. Wilson's, excess- 
ive, 215. 

Bremer, Miss, on the power of evil 
words, 177. 

Broderip, Mr., naturalist, 121. 

Brooke, Lcyrd, on the character of Sir 
P. Sidney, 83, 

Brougham, Lord, on the education of 
the child, 44; his maternal grand- 
mother, 56; his industry, 115; on 
hobbies, 126. 

Brown, Capt. John, on character, 81. 

Browne, Dr. Thomas, on death, 371. 

Browne, Sir T., his profession, 116; 
on truthfulness, 212. 

Brunei, Mr. (engineer), on ill-nature, 
244, 

Bruno, martyrdom of, 133, 

Bruyere, La, his memoirs, 285, 

Buchanan, George, his prison-work, 
361, 



CAROLINE MATILDA. 

Buckland, Dr., assailed because of his 
views of geology, 135 ; his .wife as a 
helper, 331. 

BufFon, admiration of Sir L Newton, 
94; on enthusiasm in the young, 234i 

Bunyan, influence of his wife, 326 ; his 
prison-works, 361 ; on the discipline 
of suffering, 366. 

Burdett, Sir F., loss of his wife, 329. 

Burke, Edmund, on superfine virtues, 
14 ; on the power of virtue, 20 ; his 
infirmity of temper, 21, 183 (note) ; 
on example, 74; Fox's admiration 
of, 84 ; advice to Barry, 183 ; hla 
cheerfulness, 231 ; ftivorite books, 
291 ; his married life, 313 ; descrip- 
tion of his wife, 322 ; on adversity, 
353. 

Burleigh, Lord, on the qualities of a 
wife, 316. 

Burns, the poet, on manliness, 17 ; his 
want of self-control, 183 ; his songs, 
184 ; on the qualities of a wife, 316 ; 
his character developed by difficul- 
ty, 368. 

Burton, on indolence, 40 ; causes of 
melancholy, 99. 

Business habits, 110; necessary for 
women, 63, 111 ; andgenius,113 ; and 
literature, 115; and discipline, 169. 

Byron, Lord, oh Dante, 34, 87; his 
mother, 62; on Sheridan, 189; on 
hope, 239; his shyness, 255, 257; his 
deformity, 281. 



C^SAR, JuLirs, power of his name af- 
ter death, 31; his authorship 'and 
generalship, 113, 127 -, his intrepid- 
ity, 150. 

Calderon, a soldier, 119, 

Callistratus, the inspirer of Demos- 
thenes, 91, 

Calvin, energy of, 33, 151; marriage 
of, 327, 

Calvinism and Knox, 33 ; and Crom- 
well, 173. 

Camoens, a soldier, 119 ; his difficul- 
ties and sufferings, 356. 

Campan, Madame, Napoleon and, 42 
{motto). 

Campanella, his prison-work, 361. 

Campbell, Lord, his " Lives," 282. 

Canada, French colonization in, 261. 

Canning, his mothej", 57; admiration 
of Pitt, 94 ; and literature, 127. 

Captiousness, 251, 

Carew, Lady E., on noble scorn, ISO, 

Carlyle, on great men, 32 ; on Knox, 
ib.'j on Boswell's "Johnson," 89; 
on control of speech, 178 ; on biog- 
raphy, 268, 272 ; his wife, 335, 

Caroline Matilda, Queen of Denmark, 
her prayer, 372. 



Index. 



^11 



CAEPEXTEK. 

Carpenter, Miss Mary, 161. 

Casaubon, his indnsiry, 107. 

Cervantes, a soldier, 119; his genius, 
300 ; his poverty, 353. 

Chamfort, on autobiography, 2S3. 

Character, influence o7, 13 ; formation 
of, 21, 47, 53 ; and will, 23 ; and rev- 
erence, 26, 32 : immortality of, ib. ; 
national, 36 ; and the home, 42, 310 ; 
and popularity, 145 ; energy of, 14S ; 
the best protection, 15S ; and disci- 
pline, 166; and truthfulness, 210; 
and manner, 241 ; and marriage, 302 ; 
and adversitv, 345, 306, 370. 

Charity, practical, 52, 136, ISO, 372. 

Charles I., literary men employed by, 
116 ; imprisoned by, 362. 

Charles V. (of Spain), magnanimity 
of, 155. 

Chateaubriand and Washington, S3. 

Chatham, Earl of, his inspiring ener- 
gy, 29 ; his public honesty, 190 ; his 
favorite books, 291. 

Chaucer, a man of business, 116. 

Cheerfulness, 222-239. 

Chesterfield, Earl of, on truthfulness, 
210 ; on hardening of the heart with 
age, 227. 

Child, the, and the home, 44. 

Chisholm, Mrs., 161. 

Christianity and work, 105 ; and Epic- 
tetus, 199. 

Cicero, influence of his works, 299. 

Circumstances and character, 21, 52, 
1S2, 372. 

Civilization, home the school of, 44 ; 
and mothers, 4S. 

Clappertou, traveller, his obscure 
death, 359. 

Clarendon, his character of Hampden, 
114, 171, 210. 

Clarkson and anti-slavery, 149. 

Classical -studies, uses of, 12T, 293 
{note). 

Claude Lorraine and Constable, 95. 

Cleanliness and self-respect, 246, 207. 

Clyde, Lord, on the character of Sir 
J. Outram, 177. 

Cobbett, Wm., his first book, 297; 
courtship and marriage, 343. 

Cobden, R., Mr. Disraeli on : his la- 
boriousness, 115; an antagonistic 
man, 149 ; his fijst failure as a speak- 
er, 355. 

Cockburn, Lord, on the personal in- 
fluence of Dngald Stewart, SO. 

Colbert, on the character of the Dutch, 
40i.. 

Coleridge, S. T., on idleness and me- 

. thodical industry, 110 ; on literature 
and business, US ; on the influence 
of the Bible, 274 {note) ; his favorite 
books, 292, 293. 

Coligni, Admiral, 207; his grand- 



daughter, Charlotte de la Tremou- 
ille,l60. 

Coilingwood, Admiral, and duty, 203. 

Colonizers, English and Germans the 
best, 260. 

Colonua, Vittoria, 197. 

Colt, Jane, Sir T. More's first wife, 13S 
{note). 

Columbus, his courage, 131 ; his en- 
thusiasm, 351 ; his persecutors, 359. 

Common sense, 19, ISO, 345, 347, 371. 

Commonwealth, literary men employ- 
ed by, 117 : men imprisoned by, 362. 

Companionship, 73, 75 ; of books, 26S ; 
in marriage, 302. 

Congreve, a man of business, 117. 

Conscience and duty, 25, 196. 

Consoler, woman as a, 336. 

Constable, E. A., and Claude Lorraine, 
95 ; on inferior portraiture, 2S6. 

Constant, B., on Napoleon I., 25 {note). 

Contagiousness of energy and genius. 
28, 85, 86, 91, 151. 

Control of self, 165^176, 199, 244. 

Cooke, Mr., Secretarv, and Earl of 
Strafford, 172. 

Cooper, Thomas, his prison-work, 363. 

Copernicus, followers of, persecuted, 
134. 

Cornwall, Barry (Mr. Proctor), 121. 

Cornwallis, Lord, and Col. Napier, 190. 

Correggio, and Raphael, 95; no por- 
trait of, 2S9. 

Courage, 131 ; common, 139 ; in wom- 
en, 157 ; and character, 198. 

Courtesy, 152, 241. 

Cowardice, moral, 144, 186, 198. 

Cowley, on the influence of example, 
47 ; employed by Charles L, 116 ; his 
favorite book, 206. 

Cowper, poet, failure at the bar, 355. 

Credit svstem, its tendency to immo- 
rality, "lS8. 

Cromwell, O., and men of conscience, 
26; his mother, 55; his strength of 
temper, 173 ; his warts, 281. 

Cumberland, Duke of, and Gibbon, 
251. 

Cunningham, Allan, his admiration 
of Scott, 89. 

Curran, his mother, 57; on Burns, 18G 
{note) ; his favorite book, 291. 

Custom and habit, 39, 75, 9ft. 

Cuvier, on Adansou, 230. 



Daxiee, poet, on self- elevation of 
character, 24; on difllculty, 345 
{motto). 

Dante, his influence on history, 34, 86 ; 
a man of business, 118 ; his favorite 
books, 291 ; admirers of, 292 ; his 
persecution and sufferings, 356. 



878 



Index. 



Daru, Napoleon I. and, 125. 

Darwin, Dr., an invalid worker, 369. 

Davenaut, Sir W., in prison, 3G2. 

Davy, Sir IL, on prosperity, SCO. 

Death, Sir John Eliot on. 141 {note) ; 
Abbe de St. -Pierre on, 210 ; Keats's 
fear of, 218, 219 {note) ; George Wil- 
son waiting for, 220 ; example of a 
great, 367; necessary to happiness, 
371. 

Debt, immorality of, 186. 

Decision and indecision, 142, 198. 

Deckar, poet, on the great sufferer, 
367. 

Decline of nations, causes of, 40, 205. 

De Foe, D., a man of business, 119 ; his 
genius, 286 ; in prison, 363. 

Deformity, a stimulus to effort, 280. 

Delpini and Sheridan, 21. 

Demosthenes, fired by Callistratus,91. 

Denmark, Queen of, Caroline Matilda, 
372. 

Derby, Earl of, his ^translation of the 
"Iliad," 129; (Lord Stanley), on 
work, 103. 

Descartes, a soldier, 119 ; his views de- 
nounced as irreligious, 135. 

De Tocqueville, on literature, 127 ; on 
duty, 207 ; on marriage, 318. 

Dettingen, incident at the Battle of, 
154. 

Difficulty, uses of, 156, 351, 366. 

Diogenes and Antisthenes, 150. 

Diplomatists and diplomacy, 118, 212. 

Discipline, value of, 160, 199 ; of expe- 
rience, 345 : of suffering and diffi- 
culty, 345-366. 

Discontent, 235. 

Dishonest living, 186, 187 (note). 

Disraeli, Benjamin, M.P., on Cobden, 
95; as a literary man, 129; his first 
failure as a speaker, 355. 

Disraeli, Isaac, and Dr. Johnson, 89; 
on biography, 275. 

Domestic training, 44, 168 ; life, 310. 

Domitian, his hobby, 126. 

Donne, Dr., on ill-health, 369. 

Douglas, the, at Otterburn, 31 ; at Ban- 
nockburn, 153 ; Catherine, her hero- 
ic conduct at Perth, 160. 

Dowry, greatest, of a nation, 35. 

Drake, Sir JF., his education by toil, 
106. ^ 

Drinking, vice of, 185. 

Dumas and Keboul, 368. 

Dutch, energj' of the, 40. 

Duty, sphere of, 14, 194; sustaining 
power of, 15, 25, 200 ; Washington, 
200 ; Wellington, 202 ; and Nelson, 
203 ; Baron Stoffel on, 205 (and note) ; 
George Wilson on, 220; the aim and 
end of life, 373. 

Dyer, Mary, a New England martyr, 
137. 



E. 

East India House, eminent clerks in, 
120. 

Edgeworth, Miss Maria, on business 
and genius, 114. 

Edgeworth, R. L., on popularity, 143. 

Education, of women, 66 ; in courage, 
157 ; for marriage, 314. 

Edward the Black Prince, his courte- 
sy, 152. 

Edwardes, Sir IL, and General Nichol- 
son, 82. 

Egotism, 2.34. 

Eliot, Sir J., his execution, 141 ; his 
prison-works, 362. 

Elizabeth, reign of, great men in, 35, 
116. 

Elliott, Ebenezer, poet, a man of busi- 
ness, 120. 

Emerson, on civilization, 48 ; on imi- 
tation, 74 ; on books to be read, 270 
(note) ; on biography, 271 ; on histo- 
ry, 275 ; on love, 312. 

Energy, its influence, 23, 25; conta- 
giousness of, 28, 86, 91, 150 ; of will, 
197. 

English race, and duty, 204 ; and shj-^- 
ness, 252 : and art, 263. 

Ennui, Helvetius on the use of, 115. 

Enthusiasm, youthful, uses of, 234, 349. 

Envy of small minds, 90. 

Epictetus, on principles, 18 ; on free- 
dom and power of the Avill, 199. 

Erasmus, on Socrates, 33 (note) ; on 
books, 299 ; on Sir T. More's domes- 
tic life, 312. 

Etiquette, 242. 

Euler, mathematician, his cheerful- 
ness, 229. 

Example, influence of, 44 ; better than 
precept, 46, 82 ; of companions, 73 ; 
Dr. Arnold's, 79 ; of the great, 91 ; 
in death, 365. 

Experience, discipline of, 345. 

F- 

Facility and difficulty, 354, 366. 

Factory labor, woman and, 70. 

Failure and success, 141, 354, 364, 371. 

Fairfax, Sir T., at the Battle of Nase- 
by, 153. 

Faith, martyrs of, 136, 357. 

Faraday, inspiration of his friendship, 
84 ; his resolution, 151 ; his temper, 
175; his forbearance, 182 ; his mar- 
ried life, 335. 

Fariui, merchant, 119. 

Farrar's " Seekers after God," 19, 199- 
(note). 

Favorite books of great men, 276, 291, 
sqq. 

Fear, ignoble, 156. 



Index. 



87' 



Fichte, on love, 309 ; his courtship and 
married life, 342. 

Fiction and biography, 272, 2S6. 

Fielding, Henry, his cheerfulness, 226. 

Fine art, English defective in taste for, 
264; and national decadence, 265. 

First impressions, 45. ^ 

Flaxmau, his wife, 33S. 

Flinders, navigator, his misfortunes, 
359. 

Fontenelle, influence of his books, 
295 ; his failure at the bar, 355. 

Food, women, and the art of prepar- 
ing, 71. 

Foote, Sam, and his mother, G3. 

Forbearance, in act, 169, 315, 3T2 ; in 
speech, 177. 

Foreign work-people, politeness of, 
246: art, 265. 

Formation of character, 21, 47, 53, 166. 

Fox, C. J., his spirit of honor, 26 ; his 
admiration of Burke, 84, 183 {note) ; 
his love of literature, 127 ; his favor- 
ite books, 292. 

France, Dr. Arnold on, 38 ; a mother- 
less nation, 68; wanting in the spir- 
it of duty, 205 ; Baron Stoffel's re- 
port, 205 (and note) ; and fine art, 
266. 

Franklin, Benjamin, a man of busi- 
ness, 120; Turgot's description of, 
127 ; his discovery of the nature of 
lightning, 134; his personal influ- 
ence in a workshop, 246. 

Franklin, Lady, 160, 339 ; Sir John, 
359. 

Frederick the Great, his favorite books, 
293. 

Freedom and free-will, 199. 

Freer, Edward, incident in life of, 29 
{note). 

French statesmen and literature, 127 ; 
gallantry of a French workman, 154 
of a French officer at Dettingen, ih. 
French great men of the past, 207 : 
politeness of, 247 ; sociability of, 252 : 
the French bad colonizers, and why, 
261 ; the French and fine art, 266 • 
Memoires pour servir, 284. 

Fry, Mrs., 161. 

Fuller, on the character of Drake, 106 ; 
on the qualities of a good wife, 317 
{note). 

G. 

" Gaijleaih-b," Epictetus's notice of 
the, 199 {note). 

Galileo, his business pursuits, 119 ; his 
persecution, 133. 

Galvani, his business, 119; his wife, 
331. 

Garrett, Miss, 161. 

Gaskell, Mrs., how she became an au- 
thor, 368. 



Gay, the dramatist, and business, 118. 

Generosity of great men, 153. 

Genius, inspiring power of, 33, 86 ; not 
incompatible with ability in busi- 
ness, 113 ; struggles of, 132, 356. 

Gentleman, Sir ^T. Overbury, on the 
true, 27 ; Aristotle on the same, 
155. 

Germany, Luther's influence on, 33; 
and France, 206 {note) ; the German 
"Niemec,"260. 

Gibbon, Duke of Cumberland and, 
252; and "The Universal History," 
295. 

Giflford, on business and literature, 
118. 

Girard, Stephen, on strong tempers, 
171. 

Gladstone, W. E., on Lord Palmer- 
stou's character, 28; his love of lit- 
erature, 129. 

Goethe, his mother, 59; on human 
weakness, 181; on "goody-goody" 
persons, 232 ; his favorite books, 
292, 296 ; on life and suffering, 366 ; 
on happiness, 370. 

Goldoni and business, 119. 

Goldsmith, and Johnson, 250, 251 ; his 
failure as a surgeon, 355. 

Goodness, diffusive, 81 ; inspiring, 83. 

Gotos, South American, 181. 

Government and character, 37; ori- 
gin of, 99. 

Grace of manner, 242. 

Graham, Sir J., his failure at first as a 
speaker, 354. 

Graham, Sir T. (Lord Lynedoch), ef- 
fects of the loss of his wife, 330. 

Gray, poet, his mother, 59 ; his favor- 
ite book, 292. 

Great men, influences of, 29-36, 86; 
homage of, 92 ; great Frenchmen, 
207; their cheerfulness, 226; their 
favorite books, 276. 

Grecian art, 265. 

Greece, influence of, in history, 32, 39 ; 
in art, 266. 

Gretry (musician), on good mothers, 
51. 

Greuze, painter, on work, 107 ; on con- 
temporary men, 288. 

Greville, Fulke, his character of Sir 
P. Sidney, 152. 

Grimaldi a'nd his physician, 236. 

Grote, G., historian and banker, 122. 

Grotius, his wife, 339; his prison- 
works, 361. 

Grumblers at fortune, 234. 

Grundy, Mrs., despotism of, 143. 

Guinea trader, his estimate of great 
men, 90. 

Guizot and literature, 127; his court- 
ship and marriage, 321, 

Gurney, Mr., on indolence, 99. 



380 



Index. 



H. 

Habits, force of, 50 ; training of, 1G6 ; 
consolidation of, in character, 398; 
habits of business, 116, 109. 

Hall, Capt. Basil, and Sir W. Scott, 
194, 227. 

Hall, Dr. Marshall, his energy, 85 ; on 
indolence, 101 ; on truthfulness, 214; 
on cheerfulness, 225. 

Hamilton, Sir W., and his wife, 333. 

Hampden, industry of, 114 ; Claren- 
don's character of, ITO, 210. 

Handel, admiration of, by great mu- 
sicians, 93 ; his greatest work done 
in suffering, 369. 

Happiness and temper, 222; in mar- 
riage, 313 ; a delusion, 366, 3T1. 

Hardenberg, F. von (Nova-lis), 109. 

Harvey, Dr., and his discovery, 135. 

Hastings, Lady E., Steele's compli- 
ment to, 309. 

Havelock, at Vera, 28 ; and Outram, 
17T. 

Hawick, Sir W. Scott mobbed at, 202 
{oiote). 

Hawthorne, Nathaniel, shyness of, 
259 ; on sexual affection, 310. 

Haydn and Porpora, 92 ; and Handel, 
93. 

Hay don and Sir J. Reynolds, 89. 

Hazlitt, on money and debt, 188 ; on 
the power of books, 269, 300. 

Heaven made for those who fail, 364 
(note). 

Heine, on free utterance, 132 •, his 
wife, 340. 

Heinzelmann, on honorable living, 
190. 

Helpers, wives as, 331, 336. 

Helps, Arthur, literature and busi- 
ness, 120 ; on honest utterance, 146 
(note); on "respectful uneasiness," 
254 ; and Hawthorne, 259 ; on house- 
hold life, 311 (note) ; on men and 
women, 314 ; on sufferiug, 367. 

Helvetius, on ennui, 115 ; maxim of, 
259. 

Herbert, George, his mother's home 
rule, 51 ; her sayiug about example, 
73 ; George Herbert on the good 
priest's life, 82 ; maxims of, 126, 178, 
182, 187, 213, 372. 

Herder, his courtship and marriage, 
341. 

Hereditary greatness, 38. 

Herodotus, the inspirer of Thucydi- 
des, 91. 

Heroes of youth, 28, 89. 

Herschel, Sir J., as Master of the Mint, 
124. 

History and great men, 33 ; and art, 
2G5 ; and biography, 275. 

Hobbies, uses of, 126". 



rNTREPIDITY. 

Holland, character of its people, 40. 

Holmes, O. W., on brain- women and 
he art- worn en, 313 (note). 

Home, a school of character, 42, 51 ; 
of moral discipline, 167; of man- 
. ners, 247; the kingdom of, 311. 

Homer's "Iliad," biographic, 285; 
Pofe and Ogilvy's translation of, 
297. 

Honesty of purpose, 18; of speech, 
179 ; of living, 1S7. 

Honor, sense of, 197. 

Hood, Tom, on the influence of good 
books, 298 ; his wife, 336 ; his work 
amidst suffering, 369. 

Hooker, Dr. , on a good life, 82 ; a hard- 
working priest, 116. 

Hope, Thales on, 239 ; Alexander the 
Great and, ib. ; Byron on, ib. ; Shak- 
speare wanting in, 255. 

Horace and poverty, 353. 

Hortensius, Cicero's, 299. 

Household management and business 
habits, 64. 

Huber, naturalist, his wife, 332. 

Humboldt, the brothers, 124. 

Hume, on moral principle, 18. 

Hunter, John, and his discoveries, 135. 

Husband, character of a true, 323. 

Hutchinson, Col., his moral courage, 
147 ; his truthfulness, 210 ; his court- 
esy, 241 ; his character described by 
his wife, 323. 

Hutten, on Luther's courage, 140. 

Huttou, Wm. (of Birmingham), 120. 

Hypocrisy and time-serving, 145. 

I. 

Idlenkss, its demoralizing tendency, 
40, 97, 99. 

" Iliad," the, its biographical interest, 
285. 

Ill -temper, 234 ; Mr. Brunei on, 244. 

Imagination and fear, 156, 181, 235. 

Imitation, m childhood, 44, 46 ; power 
of, 74. 

Impatience, 180. 

Indecision, evils of, 142, 198. 

Indignation, honest, 179. 

Individualism and socialism, Ameri- 
can and French, 260. 

Industry, necessity of, 97 ; duty of, 102 ; 
of Sir W. Scott, 108, 191 ; its power, 
114; ofGeorge Wilson, 214. 

Inquisition, persecutions by the, 133. 

Inspiration: ofenergy, 25-29 ; of good- 
ness, 83 ; of genius, 93 ; of books, 
295; of love, 308. 

Institutions, made by great men, 33; 
of little value compared with char- 
acter, 37, 41. 

Intellect and character, 15. 

Intrepidity, intellectual, 14S. 



Index. 



881 



Irish sociability, 252 ; characteristics, 

262 (:note). 
Irviug, Washiugtou, and Sir W, Scott, 

36, 227. 
Israel, iuflueuce of people of, 22, 39, 

273. 
Italy and Dante, 34; Pliny on early 

rural condition of, 98 ; great literary 

men of, 119. 



James I. (England), great literary ac- 
tivity in reign of, 116. 

James II. (Scotland), courageous con- 
duct of his court ladies, 159. 

Jameson, Mrs., on duty, 195. 

Jefferson and Washington, 29. 

Johnson, Dr., his regard for his moth- 
er, 54; on admiration of others, 88; 
his own young admirers, 89; on 
Milton's industry, 117; on self-con- 
trol, 168 ; on temper, 172 ; his cheer- 
fulness, 226 ; his manner, 250 ; on 
biography, 273, 279, 282, 287 ; on Ho- 
mer, 285. 

Jonson, Ben, and Charles I., 157; on 
a noble woman, 158. 

Justice and duty, 195. 

K. 

Kane, Dr., on moral power, 215. 

Kaye, Sir John, 120. 

Kazinsky, his prison-work, 364. 

Keats, his death-warrant, 217 ; his fa- 
vorite books, 295. 

Keightley, and " Paradise Lost," 298. 

Kempis, Thomas a, and "The Imita- 
tion of Christ," 289. 

Kepler, denounced as a heretic, 134. 

Kergorlay and De Tocqueville, -207, 
320. 

Kindness, power of, 232. 

Kingslev, Canon, on character of Sir 
S. Smith, 246. 

Knox, John, his influence on Scotch 
history and character, 33 ; energy of, 
151 ; his want of courtesy, 249, 

Kossuth, his prison-work,' 364. 



Labok, necessity of, 97 ; a condition 

of enjoyment, 102; power and, 114; 

wholesomeness of, 130. 
Lacepede, favorite maxim of, 109 ; a 

soldier, 119; inspiration of his books, 

296. 
Lacordaire, on speech and silence, 

179 ; his first failure as a preacher, 

354. 
La Fontaine and Malherbe, 295. 
Lalande, and Foutenelle's "Plurality 

of Worlds," 295. 



Laraark, a soldier, 119. 

Lamartiue, his mother, 63 ; and litera- 
ture, 127. 

Lamb, Charles, on relief from desk 
drudgery, 107 ; a clerk in the India 
House, 120 ; his work done amidst 
sorrow, 369. 

Lame men, greatness of some, 280. 

Lancaster, Joseph, his youthful ardor, 
350. 

Langdale, Lord, and Sir William Na- 
pier's "History," 85. 

Laplace and Napoleon, 124; andBiot, 
153. 

Lathom House, gallant defense of, 160. 

Latimer, martyr, 137. 

Lavalette, Madame de, 339. 

Lavoisier, his wife, 331 ; guillotined, 
358. 

Lawrence, Sir H., and "The Happy 
Warrior," 270 ; and youthful enthu- 
siasm, 350. 

Learning, and character, 15 ; classical, 
298 {note). 

Lefevre, Marshal, and the price of ex- 
perience, 351. 

Leisure, enjoj'ment of, 102; of labori- 
ous men, 125. 

Length of years not length of life, 1G5. 

Leon, De, his self-control, 179. 

Leonardo da Vinci and Francis I., 92. 

Lessiug, on the search for truth, 102 
{note). 

Lewis, Sir G. C, his love of literature, 
129. 

Life, and work, 105; and happiness, 
370 ; is what we make it, 372. 

Lillo, a jeweller, 119. 

Literary, men and business, 115 ; 
statesmen, 126. 

Lives unwritten, 289. 

Livingstone, Dr., death of his wife, 
329. 

Locke, on habit, 75 ; a man of busi- 
ness, 117 ; denounced as a material- 
ist, 135 ; on temper and disposition 
in a teacher, 240 {note). 

Lockhart and Sir W. Scott, 193. 

Longevity, Sir G. C. Lewis and, 129; 
of naturalists, 230. 

Loo, manners of the great, 96. 

Lope de Vega, a soldier, 119. 

Louis XIV., why unable to conquer 
the Dutch, 40 ; and toil, 114 ; and 
the Abbe de St. -Pierre, 208. 

Love, sjTnpathetic power of, 232 ; pas- 
sion of, 307. 

Lovelace, his lines to Lucusta, 197 ; in 
prison, 362 ; his lines on imprison- 
ment, 365. 

Loyola, energy of, 151. 

Lubbock, Sir J., and business, 122. 

Lunatic asylums and only children, 
168. 



382 



Index. 



Luther, his poverty, 17 ; his intrepid 
example, 24 ; his influence on Ger- 
man history, 33 ; his laboriousness, 
105 ; his courage, K9 ; his energy, 
151 ; Charles V. at the tomb of, 155 ; 
his cheerfulness, 225; his manners, 
250 ; his happiness in marriage, 313 ; 
his prison-work, 361. 

Lying, meanness of, 212. 

Lynedoch, Lord (see Graham, Sir T.). 

Lytton, Lord, love of literature, 130 ; 
on books, 2T0 {note). 

M. 

Maoattlay, Lord, on Bosw^ell, 89; lit- 
erature and business, 120. 

M'Clintock, Sir L., and his search for 
Sir J. Franklin, 160. 

Maginn, his improvidence, 188. 

Magnanimous man, the, 154. 

Maistre, De, on mothers' influence, 54. 

Malcolm, Sir J., his cheerfulness, 231. 

Manner, importance of, 240. 

Marathon, the Battle of, 39 {note) ; 
Themistocles and, 91. 

Marlborough, Lord Boliugbroke on, 
91 ; his patience, 238. 

Marriage, companionship in, 302. 

Marten, Henry, on a M'ell-speut life, 
96. 

Martin, Sarah, her prison labors, 162. 

Martyn, Henry, early influence of a 
companion on, 77 ; his temper, 174 ; 
his favorite books, 297. 

Martyrs, of science, 133, 357 ; of faith, 
128. 

Mason, on biography, 282. 

Maternal influence, 46. 

Mathew, Father, and the Temperance 
movement, 149. 

Mathews, Charles (actor), his shyness, 
257. 

Maupertius, a soldier, 119. 

Maxims of men as to work, 110. 

Mazarin, Cardinal, on time as a help- 
er, 348. 

Mean natures, 91 ; can not admire, 
155. 

Melancholy, causes of, 99. 

Memoires pour servir, French, 284. 

Memories of the great, 35, 95, 364. 

Michael Angelo (see Angelo). 

Michelet, his mother, 61 ; on poverty, 
353. 

Middleton, Alice, second wife of Sir 
T. More, 137 (and note). 

Middleton, Bishop, on manner, 240. 

Mill, J., on cause of the necessity for 
government, 99. 

Mill, J. S., his combination of litera- 
ture with business, 120 ; on non-con- 
formity, 144 {note) ; dedication to his 
wife, 335. 



Miltiades, his fame envied by Themis- 
tocles, 91. 

Milton, as a man of business, 117 ; his 
cheerfulness, 226; his lavorite books, 
291 ; influence of his " Paradise 
Lost," 298; his difficulties, 355 ; and 
Davenant, 362 ; on doing and suffer- 
ing, 365. 

Mirabeau, on ^^ La petite morale," 187. 

Miseries, self-indulged, 89, 156, 181, 235. 

Models, of character, 28, 35; import 
tance of, for children, 46. 

Mohammed, energy of, 151. 

Money and honest living, 186. 

Monica, mother of St. Augustine, 49. 

Montague, Lady M. W., on Fielding, 
226 ; and Pope, 304. 

Montaigne, on philosophy and busi- 
ness, 122 ; on biography, 275 ; ou 
Plutarch, 278. 

Montesquieu, his failure at the bar, 
355. 

Montgomery (poet), his prison-work, 
363. 

Moore, Sir John, and the Napiers, 28, 
85. 

Moral courage, 131, 148. 

Moral cowardice, 144, 186, 198. 

Morality, political and individual, 37 ; 
public, 189. 

More, Sir Thomas, his gentle nature, 
83 ; his martyrdom, 137 ; his life at 
home, 311. 

Morton, Eegent, and John Knox, 249. 

Morton, Sir A., and his wife, 330. 

Moseley, Canon, on the diffusiveness 
of good, 81. 

Mothers, influence of, 42 {motto), 46, 4S ; 
of great men, 53. 

Motley, on the princes of the house 
of Nassau, 173. 

Mozart, and Handel, 93 ; his labors in 
affliction, 369. 

Murchison, Sir E., on Lady Franklin, 
160. 

N". 

Napiees, the, their admiration of Sir 
J. Moore, 28, 85 ; their mother, 56 ; 
their tenderness, 151 ; their honesty, 
190; their love of Plutarch, 276 ; Sir 
W., his wife, 337. 

Napoleon I,, his contempt for men, 
25 (note) ; his opinion of mothers' 
influence, 42 (motto), 52 ; his respect 
for labor, 100; and men of science, 
125; his temper, 174; his favorite 
books, 293. 

Napoleon III., on the cause of French 
decadence, 69 ; and literature, 127. 

Napoleonic dynasty, Boranger and 
Thiers, and the, 184. 

Naseby, Sir T. Fairfax at the Battle of, 
152. 



Index. 



383 



Nassau, "William of, 160; princes of 
the house of, 173. 

National character, 36, 2G0. 

Naturalists, longevity of, 230. 

Nelson, Lord, an inspiration to his fol- 
lowers, 29 ; and duty, 203. 

Newton, Sir I., Buflbn's admiration 
of, 94 ; and business, 124 ; denounced 
as irreligious, 134 ; his shyness, 254. 

Newton, of Oluey, influence of his 
mother, 50. 

Nicholson, General, and Sir H. Ed- 
wardes, 82. 

Niebuhr, Perthes's estimate of, 82; 
and business, 124; his wife, 335. 

"Niemec," the Germans known as, 
260. 

Nightingale, Miss Florence, on sol- 
diers' bravery and self-denial, 154 
{note) ; as hospital nurse, 101. 

Nithsdale, Lady, and her husband, 
339. 

Norfolk, Duke of, and Sir T. More, 
13T. 

Normaubj', Marquis of, and literature, 
130. 

Norris, E., philology and business, 120. 

Nova-lis, on energy without goodness, 
24; his real name, 109. 

"Novum Orgauon" denounced, 133. 

Nurseries, the schools of civilization, 



O. 

OoKHAM, persecution of, 133. 

Omar, the Caliph, 31. 

Orange, William of, his power after 

death, 31. 
Outram, Sir J., his gentleness, 152 ; his 

self-denial, 176. 
Overwork, 104, 130. 

P. 

Pakington, Sir J., on popularitj', 147 
(and note). 

Paley, Dr., early influence of an asso- 
ciate on, 79. 

Palmerston, Lord : his character, 27 ; 
his laboriousness, 115 ; on Sir G. C. 
Lewis, 128; and Sheridan, ISO ; his 
cheerfulness, 225; interview with 
Behnes, 24S. 

Parental example and precept, 45, 49, 
52. 

Paris, Dr., and his book on "Philos- 
ophy in Sport," etc., 121. 

Park, Mungo, and the African wom- 
an, 306 (and note) ; his drowning ag- 
ony, 359. 

Parker, Theodore, on Socrates, 33. 

Patience, virtue of, 170, 179, 229. 

Patriotism, true and false, 38. 

Patteson, Sir J., on work, 102 (note). 



PKIDEAtrX. 

Paul, St., on duty, 195, 197; on the 
Christian life, 368. 

Paul IV. and Michael Angelo, 857. 

Peace, first apostle of, 208. 

Peacock, Thos. L., author of "Head- 
long Hall," 120. 

Pellico, Silvio, his prison-work, 363. 

Penu, Wm., his prison-work, 363. 

Persecution, of scientific men, 132 ; of 
religious men and women, 136 ; of 
great men, 356. 

Perseverance, 151. 

Personal influence of great men, 29, 
86. 

Perthes, Caroline, on useful occupa- 
tion, 106. 

Perthes, F., on learned men, 15 ; on 
Niebuhr, 83 ; on honest indignation, 
179 ; on selfishness, 188 ; on cheer- 
fulness, 238. 

Pescara, Marquis of, and Vittoria Co- 
lonna, 197. 

Peter the Hermit, 31. 

Petrarch, man of business, 118. 

Philanthropy, in woman, 161 ; of Abbe 
de St.-Pierre, 209. 

Physicians, eminent, in literature and 
science, 119. 

" Pilgrim's Progress," Bunyan's, 361; 

Pitt.'Wm., and Canning, 94; love of 
literature, 128 ; his patience, 170 ; 
his favorite books, 291. 

Plato, on force of custom, 75 ; on the 
creation of the Avorld, 136. 

Pliny, on early Koman industry, 98 ; 
his favorite maxim, 109. 

Plutarch, as a biographer, 275. 

Poictiers, the Black Prince after the 
Battle of, 152. 

Politeness, 242, 247 ; and art, 267. 

Politics, cowardice in, 144; secret of 
success in, 170; honestv in, 189. 

Pollock, Lord Chief Baron, 121. 

Pompey, his personal influence, 31 ; 
on duty, 200. 

Pope, as estimated by the Guinea 
trader, 90 ; his deformity, 281 ; his 
fii'st reading of Ogilvy's "Homer," 
297; his estimate of woman, 304; 
his compliment to Queen Mary, 348. 

Popularity, pandering to, 145 ; Sir J. 
Pakington on, 147; Washington's 
indiff"erence to, 201. 

Porpora and Haydn, 92. 

Portraiture of great and good men 
useful, 84. 

Portugal, Wellington in, 202. 

Poverty, compatible with high char- 
acter, 17, 188 ; and self-respect, 246 ; 
and self-culture, 352. 

Power resides in industry, 114. 

Precept and example, 46, 82. 

Pretentiousness, 21.^, 244. 

Prideaux, Bishop, his first failure, 355. 



884 



Index. 



PRIESTLEY. 

Priestley, Dr., persecution of, 358. 
Prime Minister, quality most requisite 

in, ITO, 
Principles and character, IS. 
Prior, M., Under -secretary of State, 

117 ; his prison-work, 3G3. 
Prison, labors of Sarah Martin, 162 ; 

works written in, 3G1. 
Proctor, Mr. ("Barry Cornwall"), 121. 
Prosperity and adversity, 141, 353, 304, 

370. 
Prussia, Baron Stoffel's report of char- 
acter of the people, 205 (and note). 
Prynne's prison-works, 302. 
Purity of manhood as of womanhood 

requisite, 307. 
Pvra, J., on courage in speaking the 

truth, 148. 
Pythagoras, on silence, 178. 

Q. 

Qtjertjlottsness and discontent, 90, 

157, 181, 236. 
Quincey, De, his favorite books, 293. 
Quincy, Josiah, on the manner of 

Washington, 258. 



Eabelais, physician, 119. 

Raleigh, Sir W., a man of business, 

lie ; his prison-work, 301. 
Randolph and Douglas at Bannock- 
burn, 153. 
Randolph, John, on mother's infla- 

euce, 50. 
Raphael and Leo X., 92 ; and Correg- 

gio, 95. 
Reboul, how he became a poet, 368. 
Reformers, antagonistic men, 149. 
Reid, Dr. J., George "Wilson's lines on, 

221. 
Reliableness of character, 19. 
Religion and self-control, 169. 
Reserve and shyness, 252, 259. 
Reverence, quality of, 26; for great 

men, 33, 92. 
Reynolds, Sir J., his reverence for 

Pope, 89 ; and Burke, 231. 
Ricardo, David, political economist, 

121, 
Richardson, S., and business, 120. 
Richter, on poverty, 353. 
Ridley, martyr, 137. 
Robertson, Dr., his favorite maxim, 

109. 
Robertson (of Brighton), on duty, 197, 

204. 
Robertson (of Ellon), on the great 

hope, 230, 
Robison, Professor, his cheerfulness, 

229. 
Rochefoucauld, De la, his maxim on 



friends, 90 ; a soldier, 119 ; on man- 
ner, 245. 

Rogers, S., and Dr. Johnson, 89 ; anec- 
dote of his power of love, 233. 

Roland, Madame, and Plutarch, 276. 

Rome, causes of its decline, 40 ; labo- 
riousness of early, 98 ; art, and deg- 
radation of, 266. 

Romilly, Sir S., on indolence, 101 : his 
wife, 329. 

Roper, Sir T. More's son-in-law, 137 ; 
Margaret, Roper's wife, 138. 

Roscoe, historian and banker, 122. 

Rousseau, his "Confessions," 283; and 
Dr. Tronchin, 346. 

Roux, M., and Sir C. Bell, 94. 

Royal Society, establishment of, op- 
posed, 134. 

Rudeness of manner, 241 ; Dr. John- 
son on, 244. 

Rudyard, Sir B., on honesty, 18. 

Ruskin, on the power of circumstan- 
ces, 21 ; on the diffusiveness of good 
and evil, 81 ; in search of fine art, 
260. 

Russell, Lord, and literature, 130. 

Russell, Lady Rachel, 325. 

Rye, Miss, 161. 



Sainte-Beuve, on admiration of oth- 
ers, 87 ; on domestic life, 310. 

Saint-Pierre, Abbe de, 208, 

Saint-Simon, his memoirs, 284, 

Sales, St. Francis de, on kind words, 
178 ; on temper, 237 ; on politeness, 
243. 

Sand, George, on fluide Britanniqxie, 
252. 

Sarah Sands, burning of the, 160. 

Sarcasm, dangers of, 177, 184. 

Savage and Johnson, 250. 

Scarlatti and Handel, 93. 

Scarron, his deformity, 280. 

Scheffer, Ary, his mother, 60 ; on "wom- 
anly courage, 157. 

Schiller, his admiration of Shakspeare, 
94; on mechanical employment, 106; 
a surgeon, 119 ; his favorite l)ook, 
292 ; and the Duke of Wurtemburg, 
358; his sufferings amidst work, 369. 

Schimmelpeuninck, Mrs., on little 
things, 21 ; on association with the 
good, 77 ; on discipline, 168. 

Schubert, his bodily distress and pov- 
erty, 309. 

Science and its persecutors, 133, 358. 

Scotland, John Knox's influence on 
character of, 33. 

Scott, Sir W., on -literary talent, 10; 
his early taste nurtured, 45; on oc- 
cupation, 104; his industry, 108 ; his 
maxim, 109 ; on able men of busi- 
uesSjl02; his honesty, 191 ; his un- 



Index. 



385 



popularity, 202 {note) ; his cheerful- 
ness, 227; his greatness the result 
of accident, 280 ; on biography, 281. 

Seamanship a Teutonic quality, 263. 

Sebastopol, Miss F. Nightingale on 
life in the trenches at, 154 l^notc). 

Sedgwick, and geology, 135. 

Self-control, 165, 176, 199, 244. 

Self-denial, of Faraday, 175; of An- 
qnetil, 176 ; of Sir J. Outram, ib. ; 
want of, 183. 

Selfishness, self-punishment of, 104; 
of living, 186; miserable companion- 
ship of, 234. 

Self-knowledge, 346. 

Self-reliance, 23, 26, 169; in women, 
307. 

Self-respect, SO, 166, 243, 246. 

Seneca, on vicious companionship, 76. 

Sertorius, on honor, 197. 

Severus, last words of, 98. 

Sexual affection, 307. 

Shaftesbury, on the cause of immoral- 
ity, 187. 

Shakspeare and Schiller, 94 ; and bus- 
iness, 116 ; his shyness, 255 ; little 
known about his personality, 288 ; 
his favorite books, 292. 

Sharpe, Granville, and anti-slavery, 
149. 

Shelley, on suffering, 368. 

Sheridan, his want of reliableness, 20 ; 
his gentlemanliness, 25 ; his indebt- 
edness, 189. 

Shyness, characteristic of the Teutonic 
race, 252 ; advantages of, 259. 

Sidney, Sir P., Lord Brooke's charac- 
ter of, S3, 152 ; as a man of business, 
116. 

Sincerity, 18, 210, 242, 245. 

Sjoberg ( Vita-lis), 109. 

Smith, the brothers ("Rejected Ad- 
dresses"), 121. 

Smith, Kev. Sydney, on honest living, 
188 ; his cheerfulness, 228 ; on wom- 
en's cultivation, 314. 

Smith, Sir Sydney, character of, 246, 

Smollett, a dyspeptic, 236 ; his prison- 
work, 363. 

Snobs and snobbism, 144, 156, 187. 

Sociability of French and Irish, 252, 
260. 

Society, of the good, 76 ; tyranny of, 
143 ; of books, 270. 

Socrates, Theodore Parker on, 33; 
Erasmus on, ib. (note) ; martyrdom 
of, 132 ; on superfluities, 187, 

Soldiers, distinguished in literature, 
119. 

Solicitors, literary men, 121, 

Solitude, great works done in, 361. 

Soult and Wellington, 30, 

Sour-natured critics, 90 ; and persons, 
236, 



R 



TIIEMISTOCLES. 

Southey, on early bias and education, 

50 ; laboriousness of, 108. 
Speculative ability, 123. 
Speech and silence, 177. 
Speke, on African politeness, 243. 
Spenser, a man of business, 116. 
Spinola, and the character of the 

Dutch, 40. 
Spinoza, persecutions of, 134; his 

"Ethics," 292. 
Stability of institutions and charac- 
ter, 41. 
Stanley, Lord (Earl of Derby), on work, 

103. 
Statesmen, and toil, 114 ; hobbies of, 

126 ; French, and literature, 127. 
Steele, Sir R., on women's character, 

157, 304 ; his fine compliment to 

Lady E, Hastings, 309. 
Stewart, Dugald, his elevating exam- 
ple, SO. 
Stoffel, Baron, his report on the French 

and German character, 205, 206 (and 

7iote). 
Strafford, Earl of, his noble bearing, 

140 ; his violent temper, 172. 
Stubbe, and the "Novum Orgauon," 

134. 
Success and failure, 354, 364, 370. 
Suffering, its dlscipline,^65, 369. 
Sully, his literary leisure, 127, 
Swift, on self-knowledge, 346. 
Sycophancy, political, 144. 



Tact and talent, 248 ; in women, 248, 

347. 
Talent and character, 19 ; and tact, 

248. 
Talleyrand, his lameness, 280. 
Talma (actor), his first failure, 354. 
Tasso, his persecutors, 357. 
Taste, good, an economist, 247. 
Taylor, Sir H., on practical wisdom, 

20; combination of literatni-e and 

business, 120; on interviews, 253; 

on marriage, 810, 314. 
Taylor, Isaac, 120. 
Taylor, Jeremy, on the providence of 

God, 223 ; on affliction, 370, 
Taylor, Tom, 121. 
"Telemachus," the influence of, 297, 

300. 
Temper : troubles of, 169 ; strength of, 

171 ; government of, 222 ; in mar- 
riage, 315. 
Temperament and manner, 245. 
Tenderness and courage, 151, 
Teutonic characteristics, 260. 
Thales, his skill in business, 123 {tiote) ; 

on hope, 239, 
Themistocles, his envy of Miltiades, 

91. 



886 



Index. 



Thiers and literature, 127; his "His- 
tory," 184. 

Thucydides, his mind fired by Herod- 
otus, 91. 

Tickell, Under-Secretary of State, 117. 

Tillotson, Archbishop, on decision of 
character, 143. 

Time and experience, 348. 

Timidity to be avoided, 157. 

Titian and Cliarles V., 92. 

Tocqueville (see De TocquevilU). 

Trafalgar, Nelson at, 204. 

Tremouille, Charlotte de la, ICO. 

Trochu, on business habits, 112. 

Trollope, Anthony, 120. 

Tronchin, Dr., and Rousseau, 346. 

Truth, martyrs for, 132. 

Truthfulness, essential to character, 
19 ; in living, 187 ; in action, 210. 

Tufnell, Mr., on influence of mothers, 
53. 

Turgot, his literary leisure, 127. 

Turner, Sharon, solicitor and histori- 
an, 121. 

Tyndall, Professor, on Faraday, 84, 
151, 175, 182. 

Tyranny of strong drink, 185. 



Ukmovable, the, Indian idea of, 101 
{note). 

Unpopularity, Washington's, 201 ; Wel- 
lington's and Scott's, 202 {note). 



Vattel, 119. 

Veitch's " Life of Sir Hamilton," 334 
{note). 

Vera, incident at combat of, 28. 

Vesalius, his persecution, 133. 

Villani, 118. 

Vita-lis (Sjoberg), 109. 

Voltaire, his maxim, 109; on busi- 
ness and literature, 117; on auto- 
biography, 283 ; his failure at the 
bar, 355. 

Votes, superstitious faith in, 70. 

W. 

Wallenstein, his business habits, 113. 

Walton, Izaak, a draper, 119. 

War, Abbe de St. -Pierre and, 208. 

Warren, Samuel, 121. 

Wart, Gertrude von der, 159. 

Warwick, Sir P., on the sagacity of 
Hampden, 171. 

Washington, power of his name, 29 ; 
a model man, 35 ; his mother, 55, 63 ; 
Chateaubriand's interview with, S3 ; 
his business qualities, 113 ; his self- 
control, 174, 178 ; his sense of duty, 
200 ; his shyness, 253 ; his wife, 331. 



Waterloo, Wellington at, 174. 

Weakness of purpose, 142. 

Wealth and character, 16^ 

Wedgwood, Miss J., on patience, 180. 

Wellesley and literature, 127. 

Wellington, Duke of, his personal in- 
fluence, 30 ; his mother, 56 ; his bus- 
iness qualities, 112 ; his self-control, 
174; on duty, 202; his unpopularity, 
ih. (note) ; his truthfulness, 211 ; his 
favorite books, 294. 

Wesley family: Mrs. Wesley, 58; en- 
ergy of John Wesley, 151 ; his favor- 
ite books, 292. 

Whately, Archbishop, his shyness, 257. 

Wilkes, John, his winning manner, 
248. 

Will and character, 23, 27 ; power of, 
142 ; energy of. 149 ; a divine gift, 
197 ; freedom of, 75, 199, 236. 

William the Silent, 173, 178. 

Wilson, Professor George, 215. ' 

Wisdom, practical, 19, 181, 345, 371. 

Wither, George, a prisoner, 362, 

Wives : wife of Sir T. More, 137 : of the 
Marquis ofPescara,197; qualities of 
a good wife, 313 ; wife of De Tocque- 
ville, 318 ; of Guizot, 321 ; of Burke, 
322 ; of Colonel Hutchinson, 323 ; of 
Lord W. Kussell, 326 ; of Bunyan, 
326 ; of Baxter, 327 ; of Zinzendorf, 
328; of Livingstone, ib. ; of Romilly, 
329 ; of Burdett, ib. ; of Graham, 
Sir T. (Lord Lyuedoch), 330 ; of Sir 
Albert Morton, ib. ; of Washington, 
331 ; of Galvani, ib. ; of Lavoisier, 
ib. ; of Buckland, ib. ; of Huber, 332 ; 
of Sir Wm. Hamilton, 333 ; of Nie- 
buhr, 335 ; of Mill, J. S., ib. ; of Car- 
lyle, ib. ; of Faraday, ib. ; of T. Hood, 
336 ; of Sir W. Napier, 337 ; of Flax- 
mann, 338 ; of Blake, ib. ; of Sir J. 
Franklin, ib. ; of Ziraraerraann, 339 ; 
of Grotius, ib. ; of Heine, 340 ; of 
Herder, 341 ; of Fichte, ib. ; of Cob- 
bet, .842. 

Wolcot, Dr., his saying on his death- 
bed, 50. 

Wollaston, Dr., his work. amidst suf- 
fering, 369. 

Women, business habits in, 64 ; edu- 
cation of, 67, 305; elevation of char- 
acter of, 69 ; their competition with 
men, 70 ; as politicians, 71 ; igno- 
rance of cookery, ib. ; useful occu- 
pation necessary for, 100; tact in, 
248, 347 ; wives and marriage, 302. 

Words, rash and hasty, 177 ; power of, 
301. 

Wordsworth and bis sister, 84; his 
natural temper, 174 ; on Burns, 185. 

Work, as an educator, 97, 110; the 
duty of, 102 ; wholesomeness of, 106, 
ISO. 



Index. 



WOEKING-MEN, 



Working-men and self-respect, 17, 103, 

241. 
Worms, Luther at the Diet of, 139. 
Worry, 130, ISl, 1S2. 
Wotton, Sir H., on diplomacy, 212. 



Xenophon, 12T. 



X. 



ZrNZENDOEF. 

Y. 

Yarmouth Jail, Sarah Martin's labors 
in. 156. 



ZiMMEKMANN, his wife, 339. 
Zinzendorf, Count, and his wife, 328. 



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